Sweet Trouble

by Sasha Gold

  She hurried after him. “Sir…Matt, I really don’t think you should go down there.”

  “S’all right, Isabelle. He can get as mad as he wants. I don’t scare easy.”

  He was unbalanced, she decided. Of all the men she’d met in Colter Canyon, this one took some sort of prize for being overbearing and impossible. She wracked her mind for a solution.

  The man strolled into the barn. “Nope, nobody here. Guess I’ll let Arlo have a little supper and a roll.”

  “Who’s Arlo?” she asked, her panic growing.

  “My horse.”

  Matt unsaddled his horse, took off the bridle and opened the door to an empty stall. She watched as he ambled to the grain bin and scooped out some feed. He dumped it in a bucket and turned to face her.

  “Is there water at the back of that pasture?” He gestured to the open door on the side of the stall. It led to a pasture that bordered the river.

  “Yes.” Her heart sank. He was truly going to wait until her imaginary husband returned.

  “Good.” He untied his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. “G’night, Arlo.”

  When he turned back to the house she hurried after. His long legs covered the distance back to the house in no time, and she had to half-run to keep up. Desperation squeezed her heart. Maybe if she fed him a good dinner, he would tack Arlo up and ride out of here.

  “Bring that pup inside, boys,” he said as he mounted the steps to the cabin and disappeared through the door. Seth picked up the pup, and he and Luke trailed after Matt. Isabelle hurried up the steps and entered the house just as Matt was handing the boys a stick of peppermint.

  “Thanks, Mister,” Seth exclaimed, struggling to hold the pup and the candy.

  The two boys went to the fire and sat down, the pup between them.

  Matt vanished down the hallway leading to the back. She found him in Jerome’s room, settling his belongings on a corner table.

  “Who do you think you are?” Her voice shook with fear and outrage. In all the times a man had confronted her or tried to coerce her into marriage, none had ever been as bold or brazen as to walk right into her home. This man must know she wasn’t truly married and had come to stake his claim on her. She’d expected some sheepish words from him, some clumsy proposal, but instead his expression twisted with fury.

  He stalked across the room towards her, forcing her back. She stumbled, trying to keep some distance between them, but her retreat was halted by the wall. Setting his hands on either side of her, he trapped her, pinning her with his angry gaze.

  “No, Isabelle. You go first. Who do you think you are?”

  His eyes flashed. He stood so close she could see the small flecks of darker blue. His masculine scent hit her and sent darts of awareness over her skin. Her breasts tightened, and she could feel her nipples press painfully against her chemise. What was this madman doing to her? It was shameful to be aroused by a stranger. His proximity was like a match to dry kindling.

  “I’m a m-married woman.”

  He lowered his hand to her waist, and she flinched. She whimpered with an excruciating mix of need and terror.

  “I’m married, too.” His voice was deeper and quieter than before. “How long have you been married, Isabelle?”

  What a strange question. But everything about this man was strange. His familiarity. His brashness. His fury.

  She looked up into his cold eyes. “I’ve been married a month.”

  He stroked his thumb across the curve of her waist. She closed her eyes. He drew closer and brushed his lips along her temple.

  “Then I suppose that’s how long I’ve been married, darlin’. Same exact amount of time as you. Want to guess if that’s a coincidence?”

  A coincidence….She drew a long shuddering breath and closed her eyes with dawning horror. He’d been married a month, just like her. Matt…Matthias…it couldn’t be. “No,” she whispered.

  Her heart seized in her chest. She felt weak and wondered if she might faint right there.

  Opening her eyes, she lifted her gaze to look into his, terrified of what she would see. “You’re Matthias Hudson?”

  His eyes were dark with unveiled lust, and her body responded instantly. Her skin burned where his hand rested on her waist. Need and desire swirled inside her and dampened her sex.

  “I am Matthias Hudson. And you are Isabelle Hudson, I suppose.”

  The words were a statement, not a question.

  “I am Isabelle…Hudson.”

  She drew in a deep breath and let it out. Her lungs wouldn’t cooperate, and she had to concentrate on managing the simple act of breathing. He loomed over her, anger rippling off him, every muscle tight and coiled as if he were some sort of predator ready to spring.

  “They said you never come to Colter Canyon,” she whispered.

  “Who’s they?”

  She shook her head and pursed her lips.

  “You ever heard of Darrell Hughes?” he asked.

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Good thing. He’s a criminal. I brought him to town this morning, and people started congratulating me on my marriage. Caught me off guard… and I don’t like being caught off guard. I didn’t recall getting married.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stroked his knuckles along her jaw. “I want you to feed me some of that dinner you have cooking.”

  His voice was different. Less angry and more…more something else she didn’t want to think about. His scent invaded her mind, undermining her thoughts and resistance.

  “And then what?” she asked.

  “The boys will go to bed in that little room upstairs.”

  She nodded. He’d already been inside the house while she’d been at the river. He’d walked around her cabin and made himself at home. Of course he had. “And then?”

  He took a lock of her hair, lifting it from her shoulders and rubbing it between his fingertips. Coiling it around his finger, he drew it taut. He tugged it just enough to give her a little sting.

  He drew closer to whisper. “Then I’m going to teach you a lesson about telling the truth, Mrs. Hudson.”

  Chapter Seven

  Matt watched Isabelle as she finished preparing the meal. She took bread out of the oven and dumped it out of the pan. Steam rose from the loaf, and a sweet, yeasty fragrance filled the air. Every so often she glanced over at him, pale and worried like he was going to unleash hell on her. She was petrified, and it served her right. But she had some starch in her spine, too, and the occasional look she gave him came with an expression of pure ire, like this whole situation was his fault.

  She was beautiful, and he had a hard time keeping his eyes from her. He’d never wanted to take a wife, but this slip of a woman who had chosen him worked on him in a way he’d never known.

  The moment he’d laid eyes on her felt like getting hit by a charging bull. She’d walked up to the cabin with the boys’ hands in hers, eyes as big as silver dollars, and demanded to know who he was. Even with her wet hair and sodden dress, she’d stolen his breath clean from him.

  She worked in silence. Her blonde curls were a tangle he yearned to wrap around his fist. He’d wind that unruly mass of hair around his hand and hold her right where he wanted her. He was tempted to coax her into that back bedroom and steal a kiss. Or more. He’d savor those full, pouting lips.

  His blood heated. His body hardened with a savage and unrelenting hunger.

  She brought the pot of stew and bread to the table. After she sat down, she served the dinner. The boys stared at him.

  “Is he staying to eat with us?” Seth asked, his tone incredulous.

  “Apparently.” Isabelle replied. “Would you like to say the prayer, Mr. Hudson or should I?”

  A loaded question. Looking around the table, he saw the expectation in the boys’ eyes. “I reckon I can come up with something.”

  Each boy put his hands together, closed
his eyes and lowered his head. Isabelle eyes blazed at Matt and she shook her head in disbelief.

  Matt offered his prayer. “Dear Lord, thank you for this fine meal, and help us to remember to always tell the truth. Amen.”

  They began eating. After a week of nothing but campfire chili, the meal she had prepared tasted wonderful. With chunks of tender meat and savory vegetables, the first bite of the stew made him realize how ravenous he was.

  “Who are you?” Seth buttered his bread and took a bite.

  The boy looked at him with wide, curious eyes. He had freckles, wheat-colored hair and an open expression that made Matthias smile. The other boy leaned forward in his chair and stopped chewing. He didn’t talk but seemed to understand plenty. When his brother chided him for petting the pup a tad too roughly, Luke had obeyed and stroked the animal gently.

  “I’m Matthias Hudson.”

  Isabelle jerked to her feet. “More stew, Mr. Hudson?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Seth’s eyes widened. “Belle’s name is Hudson too! Are you her brother?”

  Matthias watched Isabelle, taking note of her face, the way her dress clung to sweet curves that had taken his breath the moment he first saw her. She looked like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smack him or choke him. He imagined her under him and how he’d take her. She wouldn’t be curling her lip or hissing at him when he was done. He’d take her slow, wipe that look of impertinence off her face and replace it with a very different expression, and show her what to do with that sassy mouth.

  “I am not her brother.”

  “Are you her father?”

  Behind him, Isabelle laughed and returned to the table with his bowl of stew.

  “He’s my husband,” she said matter-of-factly.

  She set the stew down in front of him and gave him an insolent look, daring him to contradict her. He glared at her for her sass. With the boys sitting close by, she probably felt brave, like he wouldn’t correct her in front of them.

  He ate his dinner and helped himself to another bowl, and more bread. The food was delicious, and he savored every bite while he studied Isabelle. She colored, her pale skin turning a lovely pink.

  “You’ll be leaving first thing in the morning?” she asked.

  “I have nowhere to go until the law deals with Mr. Hughes.”

  She blinked. “How long will that be?”

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  “You can stay with us,” Seth offered.

  Matthias smiled. Seth’s nature appealed to him. The boy was protective of Isabelle, and Matthias doubted if she even noticed. It was obvious she loved the boys, but he wondered if she realized how much the two clearly adored her.

  Matthias nodded at the boy. “Why, that’s a nice invitation, son. I might just do that.”

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “You can bed down in the barn.”

  Seth shook his head. “That’s a bad idea, Mr. Hudson.” The boy held up his hand and started counting off his reasons. “First off, there are mice.” He tapped his index finger. “Second of all, there’s a big hoot owl. Probably on account of the mice. And third is the worst.”

  Matthias lifted his brow. “Tell me.”

  “Someone stole two of my daddy’s bridles and left a note that made Belle cry.”

  Matthias hadn’t expected the final reason might be something that involved Isabelle. Someone had come onto the property? Stolen something and upset Isabelle? He turned his attention to Isabelle. “Who wrote the note?”

  Her gaze lifted, and she looked at him from beneath a fringe of lashes before she dropped her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  He saw the fury blazing in her eyes. She got up and went to the kitchen, pulled the pie out of the oven. She set it on the counter, then glared at him and crossed the cabin to the front door.

  “I need to get some firewood from the shed.” She slipped a shawl around her shoulders.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she snapped. “You two boys stay inside. Let the pup sleep.”

  He held the door open for her, and they stepped outside. A full moon glowed in the night sky and cast a silvery light on the farmyard.

  She was silent as she walked beside him, and he caught her giving him worried looks.

  He spoke quietly. “Earlier today I was going to suggest that we go to the judge so you could tell him that you lied, but I don’t think you’d admit to it.”

  She let out a small feminine growl. “I’m not admitting anything, and I doubt you will, either. Imagine how that will look, Mr. Hudson.” She scoffed. “The fearsome bounty hunter tricked into marriage by a widow.”

  She was right, of course. His reputation would be taken down a notch. People would tell stories about Isabelle trapping him because of desperate circumstances, and he would look both foolish and heartless.

  He liked this little spitfire, and he liked the boys and the cabin. It was there for the taking, all because she’d picked him. Why, he couldn’t imagine, but it pleased him it was his name she’d put on the marriage proxy. She stirred a primitive need in him, to protect and to claim. He imagined nights with her, bending her to his will. His body, already in a state of semi-arousal just from having her alone, hardened.

  “I suppose I’m stuck with a wife,” he said, his voice rough.

  A small huff of indignation came from her lips. “And I’m stuck with a husband.”

  “Not the end of the world. I like the idea of having a home. A place where I could hang my hat. Have a good meal and… a warm bed.”

  They walked along the path side by side. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “You’re not welcome back here, and if you return, you’ll be sleeping with Arlo.”

  The tone of her voice kindled a spark of anger, and he wrapped his hand around her arm.

  “I don’t care for your sassy mouth, Isabelle.”

  She jerked her arm from him. “And I don’t care for your bossy ways. I didn’t ask you to come here. Why don’t you go back to chasing criminals?”

  “Seems to me I have one right here. I want you to tell me what that note said?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  He gritted his teeth. The girl might not like him. She might not trust him, but he wouldn’t allow her to disrespect him. Not only would she tell him what was in that note, she’d address him with respect. He sat down on a stump and beckoned her with a crook of his finger.

  She stalked over to him and smacked his hand. “I’m not your dog, or some cutthroat you can haul into the sheriff for sentencing.”

  He grabbed her waist and tossed her over his leg. She shrieked and flailed, trying to get away, but he held her with a firm hand pressed to her lower back.

  “Don’t scream, and take your punishment like a good girl.”

  He grabbed her skirts and felt her shoulders shaking. She should be terrified of the whipping he was about to give her, but damn if she wasn’t laughing. She turned her head to look up at him.

  “I heard you were a ruthless bounty hunter. I didn’t know you paddled your prisoners.” She snickered.

  He shook his head. The woman was upturned over his knee, and still she sassed him. Yanking up her skirts, he growled and threw them over her head. The moon cast a pale light over a lovely round bottom clad in lacy pantalets. He dipped his finger under the seam and relished the way she kicked her legs and tried to swat his hand.

  “That’s a fine little ass, Mrs. Hudson.”

  “You just wait-”

  He brought his hand down on her round, pert bottom, and she gasped. Her hands jerked back to shield herself, but he brushed them away.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growled.

  He brought his hand down again with a sharp smack on her bottom.

  She thrashed and her bottom wriggled as she hissed. “Hateful man!”

  He brought his hand down again. He’d never spanked a woman
before, hadn’t seen the appeal, but he had to admit he was enjoying this. Something about her drove him to punish and demonstrate who was boss.

  “Are you going to tell me what was in that note?”

  She didn’t answer, and he smacked her bottom three more times. Wriggling around, trying to evade his blows, she tipped, and if he hadn’t pinned her down, she could have tumbled from his leg.

  Whimpering, she shook her head obstinately. After a dozen more swats he lifted her to her feet. “I could haul you downtown and force you to confess to the judge, but I think I might enjoy staying here for a few days.”

  She panted softly, and in the moonlight he saw the distress in her shining eyes. On the verge of tears, she blinked to try to keep them from falling. He had to admit that she was tougher than she looked.

  “The note said, I’m watching you.”

  “Really? That’s not very nice. You should be happy I’m staying.”

  “You’re going to stay here? With me?” she asked softly.

  “Maybe I should. I liked the supper you made.” He tugged her closer and ran his hand over her bottom. “And I really liked helping myself to dessert.”

  Shaking her head in dismay, she gave him a look that should have softened his heart as she clutched her shawl closer. “You’re planning on claiming your marital rights?”

  He chuckled. “Most widows are happy to have a man in their bed. Someone to help scratch that itch.”

  “I don’t have an itch. Jerome and I didn’t have that sort of marriage.”

  He pulled her against his chest and relished the soft curves of her body, full breasts, narrow waist, flaring to sweet hips that would cradle him when he took her. His lust grew by the minute. The woman he didn’t even know of that morning now had his full attention, and he imagined clasping the curve of her hips, sinking into her and marking her, making her his. He growled and thought of how he’d have her, straddling him, breasts pressed against his face. She’d never been with a man? Well, he’d show her everything she’d been missing.

  “Now, that’s sweet,” he taunted, stroking her flank. “You’ve been married twice, and still an untouched girl?”

  “None of your business,” she spat.