She held back a smile. “You could try to kick his ass.”
Her brother’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I could take him?”
“I’m a big girl, you know. It’s not like I was an innocent virgin seduced by a big bad cowboy. I wanted him every bit as much as he wanted me.”
Ryan winced. “I don’t need to know things like that.”
“Apparently you do.”
“I just want you to be happy, and I’m not convinced you will be with him. He’s not at all like any of the other guys you’ve dated.”
“No, he’s not,” she agreed. “And I think it says something that I never fell in love with any of those other guys.”
He looked at her carefully. “You really are in love with him?”
“This is the twenty-first century,” she said, echoing his words back to him. “I wouldn’t be marrying him for any other reason.”
“So I can’t kick his ass?”
“You can’t even try.”
“Okay,” he relented. “But if he ever makes you unhappy, you let me know.”
“I’ll let you know,” she promised.
“Maybe I should kick Shane’s ass,” Ryan suggested.
“Why?”
“Because if he hadn’t enlisted our help to get Arthur Swinton out of jail, there wouldn’t be any Grace Traub Community Center, and you would never have come to Rust Creek Falls and met Jesse Crawford.”
“I would have come anyway for Lissa and Gage’s wedding,” she pointed out to him.
“I guess you would have,” he allowed.
“Look on the bright side—now you have twice as many reasons to visit Montana. And maybe you’ll find the woman of your dreams in Big Sky Country, too.”
“There’s only one woman for me—Lady Justice.”
“Does she keep you warm at night?”
“No, but there are other women who satisfy those needs.”
“I don’t need details,” Maggie said.
“You weren’t going to get any,” he assured her.
The song ended, and he stepped back but continued to hold her hands. “I’m going to miss you.”
“You’re going to miss stealing the Yorkshire pudding from my plate at Sunday-night dinner.”
He grinned. “That, too.”
* * *
Jesse caught up to his bride as she was kissing her younger brother’s cheek. Since he’d already done the verbal sparring routine with her older brother, he merely nodded to Ryan and spoke to Maggie.
“Apparently the guests want the bride and groom to share one last dance.”
“It’s barely ten o’clock,” she protested.
“Most of the people here are ranchers who will be up before the sun rises in the morning,” he reminded her.
“Then I guess we should have that dance.”
He took her hand and led her back to the middle of the floor. His youngest sister, acting as DJ, announced their final dance, and Maggie lifted a brow when she recognized the opening bars of the song.
“Did you request this?” she asked, as they moved in time to the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses.”
He shook his head. “It was Natalie’s choice.”
But Maggie just smiled, appreciating his sister’s offbeat sense of humor. Or maybe she just appreciated that it wasn’t a traditional sappy ballad.
“How are you holding up?” he asked her now.
“I’m doing okay.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“It’s been a crazy week,” she clarified. “I can’t believe we managed to put together a wedding in only three days.”
“With a little help from our friends and families.”
“A lot of help.”
He nodded his agreement. Shane Roarke, head chef at the Gallatin Room, the four-star restaurant at the Thunder Canyon Resort, was their connection to the resort’s pastry chef, who had agreed to make the wedding cake; Nina had a friend who did the flowers; Lissa, Maggie’s matron of honor and the undisputed queen of organization, had supervised the decorating, ensuring that the utilitarian community room was transformed into a winter wonderland, including potted Christmas trees with white lights and silver bows, silver and white streamers, bouquets of helium-filled balloons and white poinsettias in silver pots on the tables.
It was beautiful and festive, but what made the day perfect for Maggie was the identity of her groom.
And she was looking forward to their perfect night that would follow their perfect day.
Chapter Ten
Someone had brought Jesse’s truck to the front door of the community hall to expedite the bride and groom’s exit from the reception.
Maggie smiled when she saw that the vehicle had been decorated with paper flowers and an enormous heart proclaiming Just Married. Jesse offered his hand to help her into the cab, and when she took it, a definite frisson of electricity passed between them.
Neither of them said much on the drive back to his house. Maggie’s mind and heart were so cluttered with emotion and anticipation, she could barely hold on to a thought. But when she looked down at the hands folded in her lap, and at the rings on her finger that confirmed that she was definitely and undeniably Jesse Crawford’s wife, she knew—maybe for the first time in her life—that she was exactly where she wanted to be.
It wasn’t until he shut off the engine that she realized they’d arrived at his house. Now her home, too. And it was their wedding night. Nerves and excitement tangled in her belly as she reached for the gift bag that Lissa had thrust into her hands as she was leaving the hall.
Jesse came around to her door again and helped her out of the truck. But she’d barely put her feet on the ground when he swept her off them and into his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s traditional for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold,” he told her.
She knew that, of course. And the fact that he’d insisted they marry before the birth of their child proved he was a traditional guy. But both of those facts were lost in the giddy excitement and sheer pleasure of being carried in strong arms.
He turned the handle and pushed open the door. “Welcome home, Mrs. Crawford.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”
He gently set her onto her feet, only then seeming to notice the silver bag in her hand with the pale pink tissue sticking out of the top. “What’s that?”
“A gift. From Lissa.”
“I thought Justin loaded all of the presents into his truck to bring over tomorrow.”
“All except this one,” she confirmed.
Thankfully, he didn’t ask any more questions about it. Instead he said, “I’ll go get your suitcases.”
“Okay.”
He disappeared outside again, returning a few minutes later with the two bags of what she’d deemed to be essential clothing items and toiletries. The rest of her belongings were still in LA, but packed up and ready to be shipped. He set them down inside the door to remove his coat and boots, then carried the suitcases up the stairs.
Maggie hovered inside the door, not quite certain what to do. Reminding herself that she wasn’t a guest here—although she still felt like one—she sat down on the bench beside the door and removed her wrap and boots.
She’d loved the sleeveless-style dress when she’d tried it on in the bridal shop in Kalispell, but she wished now that someone had warned her that a November bride in Montana should have sleeves. Long sleeves. And a high collar. But then she remembered the way Jesse had looked at her when he first saw her in the dress, how the heat in his eyes had warmed every inch of her body from her head to her toes.
She moved toward the stone fireplace and imagined flames crackling an
d flickering as they’d been the first day she’d been here—was it really only two weeks earlier? So much had happened since the day that she’d told Jesse about their baby, it was hard to believe such a short span of time had passed.
She wondered if Jesse would build a fire tonight. She had a fantasy—perhaps born of reading too many romance novels—of making love by a fire, and the thick sheepskin in front of the hearth only fueled that fantasy.
She curled her toes into the fluffy rug as the scene played out in great detail in her mind. He would move slowly toward her, his eyes—filled with unbridled heat and wicked promises—locked on hers. Then he would take her hands in his, drawing her down to the carpet, so they were kneeling and facing one another. Then he would slowly peel away her clothes as he kissed her, his lips moving from her mouth to her throat to her breasts—
“Maggie?”
She gasped, as his voice jolted her out of her fantasy. “I didn’t hear you come back down the stairs,” she admitted.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said quickly. “I was just thinking a fire might help take the chill out of the air.”
“It’s kind of late,” he told her. “If I started one now, I wouldn’t be able to go to bed until it was completely out.”
“I didn’t think about that,” she admitted, trying not to feel disappointed that his response had been more practical than romantic. Besides, he’d carried her over the threshold, which was an undeniably romantic gesture. Not quite as romantic as carrying her directly upstairs and to his bed, but romantic nonetheless.
“Did you want anything?” Jesse asked. “A cup of tea or a glass of water?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll just go get ready for bed.”
“Okay.”
“Can I just get your help with something?” She turned around, showing him her back. “There’s a little hook at the top of the zipper that I can’t reach.”
“Oh. Um. Sure.”
She felt the brush of his knuckles against her bare skin as he wrestled with the tiny closure, and goose bumps danced up her spine. The catch released and he lifted his hands away.
“And the zipper,” she prompted. “If you could just lower it a couple of inches.”
The soft rasp of the pull tracking along the twin rows of tiny teeth—the only sound in the quiet room—was tantalizingly seductive. As the zipper inched downward, the fabric of her bodice parted, exposing a V of skin between her shoulder blades. The air was cool, but she felt hot all over. Hot and achy and needy.
“How’s that?” His voice was low, husky, and she knew he was as aroused as she was.
Maybe he didn’t love her, but he wanted her, and that would be enough for now.
“That’s great—thanks.”
She picked up the gift bag again and carried it upstairs to the bathroom.
She didn’t know what was going on with Jesse—why, after campaigning relentlessly for her to marry him, he’d been keeping her at arm’s length since she’d agreed to do so. Maybe it was another one of those traditions—abstaining from lovemaking until the night of the wedding. Again the horse-and-barn-door analogy came to mind, but she could pretend to be understanding. Because tonight, finally, was their wedding night.
She unzipped her dress the rest of the way and slid it down her body, then hung it on a hook on the back of the door. The snug bodice had eliminated the need for a bra, so she was left in only a pair of lacy bikini panties and thigh-high stockings. She debated for a minute and then removed them, too, before reaching into the bag for the peignoir set her cousin had bought for her.
The sleeveless gown had a soft, stretch lace bodice that dipped low between her breasts, and an empire waist from which fell a long flowing skirt of semi-sheer chiffon. It was feminine and romantic and sexy, and Maggie loved the feel of the soft fabric against her skin. The long-sleeved chiffon wrap had wide lace cuffs and delicate pearl buttons with satin loop closures at the bodice. She slipped her arms into the sleeves but decided to leave the wrap unfastened, then eyed herself critically in the mirror.
Would he see the truth of her feelings for him when he looked at her? Did it matter if he did? She knew he didn’t feel the same way, but she couldn’t help hoping that maybe, someday, he would.
She was under no illusions about why he wanted to marry her: it’s about giving our baby the family he or she deserves. He wasn’t looking for love, and now—thanks to the conversation she’d overhead in the ladies’ room—she knew why. It was because Shaelyn had broken his heart so badly even his mother had worried that he’d never get over her.
She pushed the conversation between those unknown women to the back of her mind. Maybe Jesse’s former fiancée had come back to Rust Creek Falls hoping to lasso her cowboy once again, but he’d sent her away and married Maggie. Even if he didn’t love her, she knew he cared about her and he loved their baby. That was a pretty good starting point, and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone ruin her wedding night.
They’d shared a connection in the bedroom, and she was confident they would reconnect tonight. She craved not just the physical joining but the emotional intimacy they’d shared; she wanted to make love with him, to show him the true depth of her feelings with her lips and her hands and her body. But she would hold on to the words until he was ready not just to hear them but to believe them.
With her heart pounding against her ribs, she opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.
“Jesse?”
She tapped her knuckles on the partially closed bedroom door. There was no response. She pushed it open and found the room was empty. His tuxedo was draped over the back of the chair in his bedroom, but her husband was nowhere to be found.
She made her way down the stairs, past his dark office, through the quiet kitchen to the empty living room.
“Jesse?” she said again.
It was then that she noticed his boots and coat were missing from the hook by the back door.
He was gone.
Her husband had left her alone on their wedding night.
Or maybe she was being melodramatic. He’d probably expected it would take her longer to get ready for bed, and he’d decided to go out to the barn to check on the horses while he was waiting. Her spirits buoyed by this thought, she went back upstairs. It was then that she noticed a light spilling out of the doorway of one of the spare bedrooms farther down the hall.
She pushed open the door and found her suitcases neatly aligned at the foot of the bed, undeniable evidence that her husband didn’t plan on sharing a bed with her tonight—or anytime in the near future.
She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes as hurt and confusion battled inside of her.
Had she been so blinded by her own feelings that she’d misinterpreted what she’d believed was evidence of his desire for her? How were they supposed to make their marriage work if they were sleeping in separate rooms? And why had he insisted on marrying her if he didn’t want to be with her?
Of course she didn’t have the answers to any of these questions. All she had was an aching emptiness in her heart, and all she could do was slip between the cold sheets of a bed that wouldn’t be shared with her husband and cry herself to sleep.
* * *
The next morning, Maggie’s first as Jesse’s wife, she woke up as she’d fallen asleep: alone.
She climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. After she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth, she stepped into the hallway. The scent of fresh coffee wafted up the stairs, luring her to the kitchen. Jesse wasn’t there, but the empty cereal bowl and mug in the sink confirmed that he was up—and probably already out in the barn. Rumor around town was that Jesse Crawford liked animals more than he liked people, but Maggie hadn’t believed it was true. At least not until he’d left her alone on t
heir wedding night.
She opened three different cupboards before she found the mugs. Although she’d severely cut back on her caffeine consumption as soon as she knew she was pregnant, she still needed half a cup of coffee at the start of the day to feel human in the morning.
She looked out the window over the sink, slowly sipping her coffee and wondering if she might catch a glimpse of her husband. She didn’t see him, but she heard the back door open and then close, indicating that he’d returned to the house.
As his footsteps came toward the kitchen, her heart started to pound a little bit faster. But she kept her eyes focused on the window, not wanting to appear overly eager to see him.
“Good mor—” The greeting halted as abruptly as the footsteps.
Her curiosity piqued, Maggie slowly turned to face him, and caught his gaze—hungry and heated—skimming over her.
“What—” He swallowed. “What are you wearing?”
She’d forgotten about the ensemble she’d donned in anticipation of her husband taking it off for her on their wedding night. Had she been thinking about anything but how much she wanted her daily half cup of coffee, she might have covered up. But the blatant masculine appreciation in his eyes warmed every inch of her—from the top of her head to the bare toes on the ceramic tile floor—and made her glad that she hadn’t.
“It’s called a peignoir set,” she told him. “Lissa bought it for me.”
He continued to stare at her, as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away, but when he spoke, his tone was gruff. “Your cousin should know by now that the winter nights are cold in this part of the country. You’d be better off with something a little less see-through and a little more flannel.”
Flannel—as if separate bedrooms wasn’t a big enough hint that he didn’t want her.
Except that he hadn’t looked at her as if he didn’t want her. Even now, even though he was staying on the far side of the kitchen, there was something in his gaze—and it wasn’t disinterest.
But she only nodded in answer to his statement. “I guess I’m going to have to do some shopping.”
Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: The Maverick's Thanksgiving BabyA Celebration ChristmasDr. Daddy's Perfect Christmas Page 12
