The Blessed Bride

by Lynn Winchester

  Though he wanted to uncross his arms and drag her up onto the porch—to get her out of the sun, not have her closer—he stiffened, forcing himself to stay put.

  “Is there something the matter, Miss O’Connor?” Lord, but the woman’s green eyes were rimmed in molten gold, putting the sunlight streaming around her head to shame.

  “Och, I’d say so,” Pati ground out. “Ever since I stepped foot inta this town, ye’ve been nothin’ but a blighter ta me. What have I done ta turn ye against me so?” The fire in her eyes dimmed a bit, just before she asked, “What have I done ta make ye hate me?”

  His gut twisted and the urge to go to her couldn’t be ignored. He pushed away from the door jamb and strode to the end of the porch, stopping himself just short of jumping down and gripping her shoulders.

  “What do you mean, Miss O’Connor? I’ve done nothing to you—”

  “And therein lies the problem, Mr. Jones. Ye’ve done nothin’ but look upon me with eyes full of disdain. And now, I don’t know whether ta be angry or happy that ye’ve ignored me for six days.”

  Ignored her? All he’d done since meeting her was think about her. And therein lies the problem!

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes to keep the sun’s glare from his face. He finally stepped off the porch, but Pati was still a head shorter than he was…the perfect height for a woman. His woman.

  Startled by that inconceivable thought, he nearly missed what she said next.

  “I’m talkin’ about takin’ one look at me and consignin’ me ta the rubbish bin, like I’m unworthy of yer attentions let alone yer time. Why did ye send Ben ta check on me? Ye said it was yer duty.”

  He swallowed the ball of guilt in his throat. “I sent Ben because I saw you two at Winslet House. I figured you wouldn’t mind seeing him every day instead of me. What’s the problem? Is he acting inappropriately?” Suddenly, the idea of throttling Ben poured energy into his blood, and his hands tightened around the handle of his guns.

  And then the trembling began; a slight tremor in his fingers that gradually grew until his whole left hand was clattering against his holster. What was wrong with him? Why did the feeling of cold gun metal beneath his palm turn his own body against him? Turning away from Pati, he endeavored to hide his shame from her, but she only followed him, quickly moving to stand in front of him again. He removed his hand from his waist and clenched it into a fist, hoping to hide the trembling from her wide eyes.

  “Don’t ye turn away from me, Payter! I’ve not yet said me piece.” This close to her, he could see the smattering of freckles over the adorable point of her nose, like a blanket of dappled sunshine on her cheeks.

  Lovely.

  “And what is it you need to say to me?” he asked, his voice deeper than he’d expected, laden with humiliation, frustration, and his aching desire for the woman glaring up at him.

  Pati’s expression faltered, and her pink tongue slid out to wet her lips. He fought back a groan.

  “Well…I…I’d like to think of myself as a reasonable, kind, agreeable woman,” she said, her lyrical accent turning to the more proper, elegant one. “I know I’ve done nothing to earn your scorn.”

  Sighing, he rubbed at the spot just below his good ear. “You’re right, you haven’t.”

  Pati stepped closer, and he could smell her soap; roses. The scent fit her; she was beautiful, delicate in appearance, and wrapped in thorns. A grin twitched his lips, but he pressed it back before it could take shape.

  She tipped up her chin, putting her mouth in the perfect position—if he had the mind to kiss her, that is. Do it. Take what you’ve been wanting for nearly two weeks. She’d taste of sass and sweetness, and he knew he’d enjoy every second of it. Right before the anger at his weakness rushed in to strangle the pleasure.

  “So, If I haven’t done something to you, why are you acting as if I have?” Her usually strong voice wavered, and he found himself wanting to wrap her up in his arms. To push her doubts away. She was just doing her best to find her father, and doing an admirable job of surviving on her own thus far. It took a certain kind of woman to journey west, without family, chasing after someone who might not want to be found. And yet, she’d done it. She’d succeeded where many men would have turned tail and headed home, back to civilization. Instead of giving up, this tiny spitfire had settled into life in Blessings with a determination he hadn’t seen since meeting Atherton Winslet.

  Admiration began blooming in his chest, warming him, melting that bit of iron bracing his spine.

  He thought carefully about his next words. “Like I said, I sent Ben because it seemed like you two were…getting close,” he nearly grumbled, the words like sandpaper against his tongue.

  The corner of her mouth curved up, and a smile appeared. Something invisible slammed into his gut.

  “Ben is a nice man, and I appreciate his company. But when you convinced me—most adamantly, if I remember correctly—that it was best that you come and check up on me, I’d thought…well, I thought that maybe we we’re becoming friends.”

  His eyebrows shot up, shock filling him. Friends? She wanted to be friends? With him?

  “I don’t know if that’s wise,” he began, his mind racing to find a practical excuse to keep their…whatever it was, from becoming more than he could control.

  Fool! You lost control that night you let the sight of her on the porch with Ben turn you into a wounded bear.

  She bit her lip, her white teeth making a dent in her succulent bottom lip. This time, he couldn’t stop the groan before it escaped. Her green eyes widened, and a pretty blush pinkened her cheeks.

  He coughed, trying to rein in the moment and salvage a mite of his pride. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to make friends with anyone. Ask around. I keep to myself.” And it sucked the life right out of him, too. But he couldn’t see a reason to let his loneliness put him in the line of fire—with her, or with anyone. When you made friends with people, you allowed them into the vulnerable places in your life. Places were blades and bullets could pierce him and leave him bleeding. No, it wasn’t real weapons that worried him…it was the toll being vulnerable took on his soul.

  And he knew, looking at her now, that Pati could destroy him utterly if he let her.

  Without thought, his hand went to his left ear, where a ragged hunk of cartilage reminded him of why he wasn’t any woman’s choice.

  Chapter 12

  Pete walked beside her, his heavy footfalls like the heartbeat of the forest. The silence between them was thicker than the trunks of the trees they passed on the way back to her little shop. After her attempt to show Pete what a truly formidable foe she was, she’d practically fallen all over herself, just to get more than a few terse words from him. Then—horror of horrors—she’d actually uttered the word “friends”. What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. She’d stormed her way to the mine security office, determined to get Pete to admit he was in the wrong, and to rid herself of her wayward thoughts about the man. Instead, she’d found him standing there, outside the building, arms crossed, long legs bracing him against the door jamb, black eyes peering at her, and his ruggedly handsome face set in a firm expression. Laird have mercy, he was just too intensely gorgeous. From the top of his black hat, to the tip of his black boots, the man was well built—broad, trim, and ropey in all the right places. She’d nearly stumbled over her own feet when she noticed he’d rolled up his sleeves, leaving his forearms bare, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of his collarbone and a peek at what she could safely assume was an expanse of masculine chest.

  Forcing her eyes to focus on the trail in front of her, she fought the urge to peer at the man beside her. But…what would one glance hurt? Sucking in a breath, she held it as she surreptitiously turned her head to look at him from the corner of her eye.

>   She did stumble then; he was looking at her, his black eyes even blacker than before. His long lashes adding a sinister beauty to his face. Unable to look away, her gaze dropped to his lips, which were usually set in a grim line—which they were now. But as close as she was, she could see that they were firm lips, yet they seemed capable of softening for the right person.

  What would a kiss from those lips feel like?

  She squeaked when something brushed against the back of her neck. She spun, swiping at whatever it was. Once she realized it had only been a pine needle, falling down the back of her dress, she stopped fussing. Her breaths coming in pants, she swallowed to wet her throat, and lifted her face to meet Pete’s gaze; his eyes were filled with something she’d never thought to see: humor.

  The lout had stopped dead in his tracks and was laughing at her! The least he could do was let the humor trickle into a smile, because then she’d be granted a glimpse at one of the rarest things on earth.

  Straightening her shoulders, she balled her hands into fists. “Funny, was it?” she asked, her tone as sharp as a razor. She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to deny it.

  Pete arched an eyebrow. “I must admit, friend, it was funny. I’ve never seen a woman flail about so much, especially over a falling pine needle.” The timbre of his voice was rife with suppressed laughter.

  She snorted, uncaring if he thought her unladylike just then. “I don’t suppose it looked all that graceful, but you didn’t have to laugh. I thought it was a spider.”

  “A spider?” His black eyes glimmered, laughter simmering in their depths.

  She shrugged. “I’m scared of spiders, what of it?” She refused to be ashamed of her completely logical fear of hideous, hairy beasts.

  The grin that split Pete’s face muted the next words from Pati’s lips. Stoic, the man was a glorious dark angel, fallen to earth. But when he smiled…it was as if heaven opened up, shining its light down upon her. She blinked, unable to comprehend what she was seeing—Pete Jones. Smiling.

  “I never thought I’d hear you admit to being afraid of anything, but now…I think I’ve heard it all.” The humor in his words washed over her, coating her in a layer of hot, liquid butter. She felt basted, like a Christmas goose.

  Ye’ve gone daft, Patience Mary-Doll O’Connor! Daft over a man, nay less!

  She needed to escape before she did or said anything else to humiliate herself.

  “Laugh if ye want then!” she huffed, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. Spinning on her heel, she marched along the path, back toward her shop, where she’d left her work to go have words with Pete. Which, now that she’d seen the consequences of her actions—her losing respect for herself—she knew to be a bad idea. Hindsight. But…if she were being honest, she couldn’t deny that seeing Pete’s smile had made it all worth it.

  Her shop was within sight, and she’d nearly made it there when a strong hand gripped her elbow, spinning her into a hard chest. She landed with an oomph, face first into the second button of Pete’s shirt. Shocked, at his actions and the warmth and hardness of him, Pati almost stumbled backward. But an arm snaked around her lower back and held her in place. Against his chest. Surrounded by strong arms, in a tight embrace.

  Her breathing ragged, her heart pounding, her gaze flicked from where her hands were pressed against his chest to where his lips were pressed together.

  So close. And he was so…warm. Standing there, her body encircled, her chest flat against him…heat unlike she ever felt before spilled from her belly, filling her with waves of desire that stole the strength from her will. She should push away, she should turn around and never look back. But the mere thought of leaving left her shuddering.

  And then, when a groan rumbled through his chest, she knew she wasn’t the only one afflicted. That knowledge sent a tremor of white hot need through her body, turning her bones to jelly. She leaned into him, and the scents that met her nose made her condition all the worse. Campfire…sweat…leather. She never knew that combination of scents could be so spellbinding. It was what Pete Jones should smell like; masculinity, earthiness…carnality.

  Lightheaded, she dropped her gaze to his Adam’s apple. It bobbed as he swallowed, and she was transfixed by it. What was wrong with her? She knew, somewhere in the back of her practical, moral mind, that what she was doing was wrong. She knew that standing in a man’s arms, in the middle of nowhere, was a recipe for disaster. So why couldn’t she make herself step back? Why did it feel so right to stand so close to him, to feel his arms around her?

  Yer’re losin’ yer focus! Ye can’t find yer da if ye’re here losin’ yer heart ta Pete Jones.

  There was that voice of reason, and what it was saying threw a pail of icy bog water over her. Blinking as if woken from a dream, she looked up to meet Pete’s black gaze, a pair of smoldering jet eyes stared down at her. His equally black brows were drawn together in an agonized expression…and the last, lingering drops of yearning died away.

  What a needy fool she’d been, thinking such fanciful things about a man who was so obviously troubled by her nearness. He must think her a wanton.

  Holding her breath, lest she groan from the loss of his arms around her, she stepped back. He dropped his arms, resting his hands on his holsters.

  “Well, I think we best forget about this little…lapse in propriety,” she said, her voice squeaking.

  Pete raised an eyebrow, his lips pursing. Even vexed as he was, his mouth was still tantalizing. And she couldn’t understand why. She’d never been a woman of loose morals; she’d never kissed a man other than her da, and she’d never felt the desire for a man’s kiss, either.

  Until now. Until Pete Jones. And it turned her mind inside out.

  “There was a pine needle…” he began, his voice deeper than she’d ever heard it. Thick, heavy, as if he were speaking with a throat full of honey.

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat. As if in a trance, Pati watched as Pete reached behind her, his warm, strong, callused fingers brushing against her neck. Then, he pulled a single pine needle from her hair.

  Humiliation blasted through her, heating her cheeks, pooling sick in her stomach. He only meant to save her from embarrassing herself further, and she’d gone and done it anyway, practically panting after him like a wolf in heat.

  It took everything within her to form her words.

  “Thank you.” She pulled back her shoulders, in some semblance of decorum. “Now, I think I can find my own way back from here.” At least her voice was even. Thank the Lord for that much.

  Pete didn’t say a word, only intensely watched her as she backed away another step, and slowly turned to walk away. An ache in her heart made the short walk to her cabin a difficult one.

  An ear-spilling scream filled the air, and his heart nearly thudded to a stop.

  Pati!

  Without hesitation, he spun, running back toward Pati’s shop, his heart pounding with the exertion and abject fear for Pati.

  With the shop in sight, he drew his weapons, forcing himself to approach with caution, so as not to spook whoever was there with Pati. Was she hurt? Terror mingled with anger, pumping steadiness into his feet and clarity into his thoughts.

  Take care, move slowly, carefully…you cannot make a mistake. He held his breath and stalked closer, his hands raised, gun barrels pointed forward.

  It felt like a million seconds, but he came around the front of the cabin, and the breath left his body with a whoosh. Pati was standing in the doorway, her hands at her pale cheeks, her eyes wide.

  She was alone. Scanning the surrounding area, he wondered what had made her scream. Relief flooded him…until Pati’s manner and utter silence caused alarm bells to ring in his ears. Striding to her side, he holstered his guns and peered into the interior of the cabin.

  It was a mess; the table where she’d kept all her supplies was toppled, the large cupboard was thrown open and the fabrics and bobbins she’d stored ther
e were scattered over the rough-hewn floors.

  Pati’s hands were shaking, her chest rising and falling in jerking movements. He could feel the tension vibrate off her, compelling him to reach out and take gentle hold of her shoulder.

  “Pati…” he began, but then realized he didn’t know what to say.

  She moved slowly, almost achingly, into the cabin. “What happened?” Her words came out in a raw whisper.

  Pete followed her in, careful to avoid the items on the floor. It appeared that someone had been looking for something, but what? She was a seamstress, what could she have that anyone in town would covet enough to rampage through her business?

  “Me money!” Pati wailed, falling to her knees to dig through the mess on the floor. “It was in a stockin’—a stockin’ I kept right here,” she murmured, pointing to the back of the cupboard beside where the table once stood. “All of me money was in there…everythin’ I’d been savin’…” Her voice died to nothing, and the reality of what she was saying struck him square in the gut.

  She’d been robbed.

  “Why didn’t you lock up?” he asked, his thoughts galloping. “You shouldn’t just leave something that important where anyone could get to it.” Frustrated at himself for being frustrated with her, he pulled his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Pati—”

  “What?” she yelled, standing to glare at him. “Ye didn’t think I would have locked the cabin if there was a lock? Usually, I take the stockin’ with me, but I was so…” The fire left her as if a candle had blown out. “I was so eager ta get ta ye…ta tell ye why I was worthy of yer respect…I didn’t think ta take it with me.”

  Worthy of his respect? Why would she think otherwise? Confusion melted away when memories of his previous encounters with Pati came to mind. He’d barely said a word to her that night at dinner with the Winslets. He’d barely looked at her that day in the mercantile when Mr. Winslet told her that her father had moved on to Sacramento. And that night, seven days ago, when he’d seen her and Ben on the porch…he’d turned his back on her. Like she was nothing. No one. His pride bottomed out, allowing the guilt of his actions to surface. He had acted disrespectfully…and it was unforgiveable.