Isaiah swore, “Fuck that. We’ll fight.”
Cole agreed. “If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting, not cowering in the corner like a beaten dog.”
Blade shook his head. “Bad analogy.”
“Bad choices.”
Cole turned to Isaiah. “What’s the first thing we’ve got to do?”
“Get you married.”
It wasn’t a question.
“And then?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
14
Cole arrived back at Miranda’s little house as dark was falling. It was of ramshackle construction that no amount of whitewash could improve. It still only sported one narrow window. It wasn’t as nice as the lowest shack on the Circle C. Yet walking up to the door, he felt the same as he did when he rode up to his ranch. It felt like coming home.
Keeping his energy banked, Cole looked in through the window at the reason. Miranda and Wendy. They were sitting at the table. Wendy was making marks on the wooden surface with chalk. Miranda was teaching Wendy her letters, he realized. In the middle of the chaos, in the middle of the disaster yet to come, Miranda had found a moment of normalcy. He wanted to keep that for her.
Miranda looked up. He knew she couldn’t see him. The light from inside would block his image, but she stared as if he were as clear as day. Damn. He felt the touch of her energy as a light caress against his senses. His cock stirred. He was probably going to have to get used to being with a woman from whom he couldn’t hide. He pushed his hat back and smiled. There were worse things.
Miranda looked back down, gave Wendy some instruction, and then rose. He met her at the door. Light from inside spilled out along with the aroma of supper. So did Miranda’s uncertainty. She stood there, hand on the doorknob, looking at him as if she didn’t know whether to fight or run. He sighed and pushed his hat back farther.
“No need to worry. I’m over my mad.”
Her smile was shaky. “Good.”
Despite her words, the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. A wisp of hair fluttered around her cheek, an irresistible lure. He reached out and tucked it behind her ear. When she flinched, he slid his fingers around the back of her head, resting his palm against her cheek, cradling her head in his hand.
“I’m not a violent man, Miranda.”
She looked at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. He couldn’t blame her; about all she’d ever seen from him was violence.
“And especially not toward my wife.”
“We’re not married.”
“After tonight we’re going to be.”
She blinked.
“Blade explained it to me. You’ve proclaimed me your mate. I gave my life for your child. Once we come together, it’s a done deal. Even the council can’t tear us apart.”
She made a noise. It might have been a sigh or a curse. He couldn’t tell and didn’t care.
“You were hoping to get out of it?”
She shook her head, smoothed her skirt, sighed again, and this time gave him the truth.
“I was hoping you weren’t aware of the law.”
“Why?”
She shrugged and glanced back at Wendy. “If down the road I wanted to claim we weren’t married, you could just walk away.”
“Uh-huh.” He leaned against the jamb. “But until then you’re just planning on using me?”
For the first time that night her gaze skirted his. And she didn’t answer. He took advantage of her distraction, pulling her a little closer, stroking his thumb down her cheek. The stroke provoked an answer.
“Yes.”
“I can’t fault you for that.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “You’re not mad?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s good to know my partner has got a level head on her shoulders. There’ll be times, probably, when you’re going to need it.”
She didn’t flinch or pretend to misunderstand. He liked that.
“You have a lot of enemies?”
“I’ve ticked off a person or two.”
“A few Reapers also.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She stood there, neither leaning in nor moving away. Just accepting his touch. Waiting, he realized, for him to take the lead.
“Are you going to invite me in for supper?”
She blinked. Her energy flickered with uncertainty. “It’s your home now, too. You don’t need an invite.”
That was generous, but he didn’t want her feeling completely out of control. Yet. “I’d prefer it.”
She stepped back. His fingers glided against her smooth skin as she retreated. On the next step he dropped his hand to his side, but he didn’t let go of that satiny sensation. He memorized it, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips, imprinting it on his memory. She’d probably be that silky smooth all over.
She waved him in. “Supper’s ready if you’re hungry.”
He was hungry for a hell of a lot of things, but the way she was nervously rubbing her hands on her skirt, she probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing about any of them right now.
“Good, I’m starving.”
She nodded.
Wendy looked up just then and motioned eagerly for him to come over.
“Look, Cole! Look what I can make.”
He didn’t have any choice but to go. As he turned his attention to Wendy, her energy struck him, stronger even than Miranda’s, but all little girl and innocent. He looked down at her bent head and the soft shine of her neatly braided hair. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred. They were going to want her for sure. His hands clenched to fists. Feeling Miranda’s gaze, he forced them to relax and admired the chalk drawing on the wooden table.
“Now, that’s a right nice letter A.”
Wendy grinned up at him, revealing her missing tooth and fairy-child charm.
“Mommy says I’m very smart.”
He ruffled her hair. He’d never let them near her. “Your mom has the right of it.”
“I’m going to learn the letter B tomorrow.”
“You are?”
She nodded. “B is for bumblebee, you know.”
He couldn’t remember when he’d ever had such innocence. “It is, is it? What’s A for?”
“Apple.” She drew a circle and added a leaf. “I like apples.” Not glancing up from her drawing, she added, “An apple took my tooth, you know.”
“Stole it dead out of your mouth?” He put his hand on his gun. “Am I going to have to have a talk with this apple?”
Her eyes grew wide. She looked at the gun, then she looked at him. Her gaze fell to the corner of his mouth where he could feel a smile tugging, and she giggled.
“No.”
“Sure? Because I’d be willing.”
She shook her head, setting her pigtails to bouncing as she colored in the last section of the apple. “No need.”
“Why not?”
She set her chalk down with a satisfied plop. “Because I ate it.”
“I guess that would settle things.”
“Get a wet rag and clean off the table, baby,” Miranda interrupted. “We’re going to have supper.”
“All right.”
Wendy hopped out of the chair, carefully gathered up the materials, put them back in her little wooden box, and brought it over to her bed, sliding it underneath.
Her bed. Cole looked at the little bed tucked on one wall and the bigger bed tucked on the other, “bigger” being a relative term. No way would that hold them both, which led to another problem. How the hell was he going to consummate his marriage with an all-ears six-year-old a few feet away? Shit.
Miranda followed his gaze. The twitch of her lips surprised him. She ducked her head before he could comment. He strolled the whole four steps it took to get
to her side. Her skin drew him like a moth to the flame. He couldn’t resist grazing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. She didn’t pull away.
“Seems likes we’re going to have to make some arrangements for tonight.”
“Oh?”
A tendril of hair draped over his fingers, binding them together. “Unless you want an audience?”
Her eyes grew big and that grin disappeared.
“No.” On a defiant “And neither do you,” she turned back to the fire, blocking him physically and mentally. That he didn’t like. Closing his fingers against the urge to grab her arm and turn her back, to make her open to him as she’d promised, he forced himself to walk calmly back to the table.
Miranda stood over the stew pot, bowls in hand, and took a breath as Cole moved away.
I’m not a violent man.
The bowls rattled as her hands shook. He might not be a violent man, but just then something powerful had ahold of him. Something scary and deep. Maybe she should have taken Clark after all. He might be a brute, but he was predictable. With Cole, she could never foresee which way he was going to jump. It bothered her. No, she admitted, as she willed her hands to stop shaking, it scared the living daylights out of her.
She’d wanted a husband she could control, but controlling Cole would be like trying to control the wind rushing down the mountain. He did everything with a sense of purpose, including stepping through her door tonight. She didn’t know what had been said or happened during the day, but she knew that up until the moment when he touched her cheek, he’d been debating something, and then when he touched her and the energy had arced between them, he’d made a decision.
“You need help over there?”
She jumped and the bowls rattled again. She hated the betrayal. “No, I’ve got it.”
She put the bowls down on the little table beside the fire and scooped stew out of the pot.
Behind her she could hear Cole talking to Wendy. There was no impatience in his speech when he conversed with her. No impatience in his manner as he watched Wendy clean the table with a six-year-old’s careless attention to detail, scrubbing at one spot, missing the rest. Miranda expected him to take the rag from Wendy or to lecture her, but instead he just chatted about A is for apple, B is for bee, and then some rambling speculation on what C could be for, letting Wendy do her best and just seeming to enjoy her. What was Miranda supposed to do with a man so darn scary and likable?
All too soon the bowls were filled. She carried two over to the table. When she would have headed back for the other, Cole shook his head and held the chair out for her.
“Why don’t you have a seat and let me get that for you?”
She blinked.
“You’ve had a long day,” he added a bit gruffly, as if he wasn’t any more used to extending such courtesy than she was to receiving it. It was oddly endearing. She rubbed her hand down her skirt.
“So have you.”
“It’s my wedding night.”
It was for all intents and purposes hers, too. The ceremony might not happen until tomorrow, but coming together tonight would make that ceremony superfluous. In the eyes of the council, and in her soul, tonight was the night that mattered.
“All the more reason I should serve you.”
“That the way it is in your culture? Among Reapers?”
She really had no idea. “It’s just the way it always is, in any culture.”
“Well, this is our house, and I’m the head of it, and I say I want you to sit down and take a load off and let me get the rest of dinner.”
And that was that, Miranda realized. She did as she was told, smiling at Wendy, who poked her finger in a bowl to test the temperature. Miranda was so nervous; she didn’t even bother to correct her daughter.
Wendy leaned forward. “He’s a big man, isn’t he, Mommy? Almost as big as Uncle Isaiah.”
Cole wasn’t that big, but she imagined to a six-year-old he was huge. She nodded. “He is, but he’s nice, too.”
“Not like Uncle Clark.”
She hated for her daughter to call that man “uncle.”
“You don’t have to call him uncle anymore.”
Wendy looked up at her, sucking in her lip. “Won’t he get mad?”
Miranda just shrugged.
“If he gets mad,” Cole said from the fire, “you come tell me about it, and I’ll have a talk with him.”
Wendy’s eyes got big. Her mouth pursed and then a beatific smile crossed her face.
“Truly?”
Miranda rolled her eyes at Cole. Wendy was a spirited child. “You really shouldn’t have told her that.”
Cole came back with the basket of biscuits and the last bowl of stew. “Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because now she’ll think you’re a weapon she can throw at anyone.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “So?”
“Well, that’s not . . .”
He cut her off as he set the biscuits on the table. “That’s the truth.” He took his seat. “You hear me, Wendy? Anybody threatens you, anybody touches you, you let me know, and I’ll handle it.”
Wendy licked her lower lip the way she did when she was scheming. “Anyone?”
Cole nodded and plopped a biscuit on her plate. “Anyone.”
Miranda sighed, took the biscuit, and broke it in half. “You really don’t know what she’ll do with that.”
He met her gaze not one wit concerned. “There is no harm in a girl knowing her dad’s got her back.”
Wendy perked up again. “Daddy?”
Miranda groaned and smiled weakly. She’d been going to ease into that subject gently.
Cole showed none of her hesitation. With too much ease for Miranda’s peace of mind, he said, “Your momma and I are getting married.”
Wendy picked up the biscuit and took a bite. “Honest?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
That got Miranda a look from both Cole and Wendy.
“Honest. How do you feel about that?”
Wendy looked at Cole. “And you’ll be a daddy like I used to have?”
“I don’t know what you’re used to, but if you mean, will I help you and protect you and make sure you have food to eat and clothes on your back?”
“Uh-huh.”
He nodded. “Yeah, just like that.”
“And no one can hurt me?”
“I’ll kill anyone who tries.”
He said that entirely too calmly. Wendy was enthralled. Miranda was appalled.
What on earth had she gotten herself into?
* * *
What had she gotten herself into? Miranda asked herself the question again as Cole closed the door behind him after dropping off Wendy at his cousin’s house.
The bar fell in place with a soft thud. Her stomach dropped with the same velocity.
“Was everything all right?”
He nodded. “Addy had just baked some cookies.”
“She’s a wonderful baker.”
“Yes, she is; she used to have a very successful shop back home.”
“You allowed that?”
He grimaced and took a step farther into the room, taking his hat off his head, revealing the smile in his eyes. “Believe it or not, Addy can be a bit headstrong.”
Miranda licked her lips. So could she. Or rather she used to be. She touched her fingers to her cheek, feeling the scar’s ridges against her sensitive fingertips.
She didn’t know what had happened to that woman. Somehow over the years, through all the changes, she’d disappeared, but she wanted her back. If it wasn’t too late. She lowered her fingers to the locket she wore around her neck. Inside it was Wendy’s umbilical cord. She’d been so idealistic when she’d put it there. So damn innocent.
&nbs
p; “Isaiah indulges her.”
“Isaiah took her away from her life.”
That piece of bitterness flicked across her conscience.
“Like I’m taking you away from yours?”
“Yeah, I’m having trouble with that.”
“I didn’t know you had Reaper blood.”
“But you knew how to convert a person. You knew a second bite was a start.”
He was mad at her, and by human law and Reaper law since she was his, he could do whatever he wanted to her and she would have no recourse.
“I wasn’t thinking.” At the time.
She took a step back, bumped into her chair. He took a step forward.
“I know.”
Her stomach plunged to her toes, and for a second her heart felt like it stopped beating. His gaze never left her face as he took another step. She looked around for a weapon, but she’d done the dishes, and the knives were sitting over in the corner of the room, and she knew no matter how fast she was, he’d be faster.
She licked her lips. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Heat flared between them. “I know that, too.”
His fingers grazed her cheek, tracing over the same scar that she’d just touched.
“I’m pissed as hell at you, you know.”
She nodded. His head tipped slightly to the side.
“You’re shaking.”
What was the use of denying it? “Yes.”
“You’re scared.”
She nodded.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking Clark.”
If he were Reaper, she’d swear he’d just growled. She swallowed hard and nodded. It was her turn to say, “I know.”
He could be so much worse.
“I don’t want to be Reaper.”
She nodded. What else could she do?
“Hell, for all we know, maybe I’m not.”
She knew how it felt to lose that sense of self. She didn’t want him to think that there was nothing left of him. “Maybe.”
She wished the word back as soon as it left her lips. His gaze sharpened. His thumb came to rest just at the side of her nose. His fingers slipped back, the pinkie touching the nape of her neck. She’d seen Blade snap a man’s neck from almost that same position.
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