Behind His Blue Eyes

by Kaki Warner

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. It must have hurt dreadfully.” She pushed the shirt up to his shoulders. “Lean down so I can pull it over your head.”

  He did.

  Mindful of the thick bandage over the cuts that Doc had stitched, she carefully pulled the shirt down his arms, then tossed it onto the seat of a straight chair near the window. She studied him in the slant of moonlight coming through the window, her face softened by the faint glow of the lamp on the other side of the room. “You’re so beautiful. All rounded muscle and coiled strength. Like the perfect gift I always wanted, but never realized how badly I needed until you came into my life.”

  As happened so often when he was with Audra, glib words deserted him and emotion took over. It was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the bed. But he knew he had to go slow. Let her set the pace. Allow time for her fears to fade.

  But he almost forgot that noble intent when her hand slid up his chest to his neck.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered, rising on tiptoe.

  He did, gently at first, then with more feeling when his control began to fray. He needed this woman in ways he had never imagined, and with a depth he had never known was within him. Cradling her head in his trembling hands, he put into that kiss all the love he felt for this kind, fearless, confounding woman . . . and hoped it would be enough.

  When he felt her start to draw back, he instantly took his hands away. “I’m sorry. Did I—”

  Her soft laughter cut him off. “I ran out of air.”

  He drew in a relieved breath. “I don’t want to rush you.”

  “You’re not. But you can take off your own trousers. I am a lady, after all.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “That I’m a lady? Of course.”

  Despite the quip, he heard the tension in her voice, and knew she was struggling.

  “Do stop giving me chances to back out, Ethan. Of course I’m nervous. And a little afraid. And worried that that horrid feeling when Weems made me expose myself will come back. Then I remind myself it’s you, not him, and you love me as much as I love you. So . . .” With a deep breath, she loosened the bows on her long nightgown, and slipped it off her shoulders. It floated to the floor in a whisper of fabric.

  And there she was. Bathed in moonlight and bared to him as she had never been, her body even more beautiful than he had imagined. Her breasts were high and round as he remembered them. Her waist was so small he could span it with his hands. Her legs were long and firm.

  And shaking.

  “Look at me,” he said when she turned her face away.

  Reluctantly, she did, her eyes wide and reflecting the yellowish glow of the lamp. That small furrow between her brows told him she was worried.

  “It’s me, sweetheart. The man who loves you so much it’s like a fire inside him. The one who will never hurt you, and who will always protect you and keep you safe. Tell me you believe that.”

  She smiled, even though tears rolled down her cheeks. “I do.”

  He opened his arms. “Then come here.”

  Knowing there would be only one first joining, and even if it wasn’t perfect, it would matter more than all the next times they came together, he went slow, calming her with gentle touches and whispered praise. She was as fragile as a bird in his arms, her heart drumming like frantic wing-beats beneath her breast. He didn’t know if it was from fear or desire, but she didn’t retreat or tell him to stop.

  After laying her out on the bed, he kissed her for a long time, learning again the taste and texture of her lips, and skin, and flower-scented hair. He kissed her breasts, nibbled her neck, traced the shape of her ear with his tongue, all the while keeping his hands gentle as he learned what she liked and where she wanted him to touch her.

  When she began to shift restlessly, and grew more insistent when she pulled him down for a kiss, he allowed himself to become bolder. Slowly running his hand down her belly, he found her warmth, and stroked her there until her breathing grew rapid and her movements became more frantic.

  “Now, Ethan,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you now.”

  Rising up on his good arm, he looked down at her. “Open your eyes.”

  She did.

  “Think only of me.” He positioned himself over her, kissed her again, and said, “Remember how much I love you. That I’m yours until the day I die. And there’s nothing I would ever do to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  He pushed inside, heard her gasp, but kept moving. She bit his shoulder. But soon she was rising to meet him stroke for stroke, her legs tight around him, her head thrown back. Then she stiffened and cried out his name, and the world exploded in such heart-stuttering splendor he didn’t know where he ended and she began.

  It was the best it had ever been.

  Collapsing beside her, he pulled her tight against him, his chest pumping as he struggled to catch his breath. “God,” he finally choked out. “You’re amazing. Perfect. I had no idea . . .”

  She pinched him. “You lied.”

  Startled, he lifted his head to look down at her, and was relieved to see her smile.

  “You said you would never hurt me. And that hurt.”

  “It did?”

  “At first.”

  “And later?”

  Her smile widened into that saucy grin. “And later, it didn’t.”

  Chuckling, he let his head fall back to the pillow. “You’re a liar, too. You said you weren’t a virgin.”

  “I said maybe I wasn’t a virgin. I was only trying to ease your worries about the audition.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “Oh, you’re definitely the man for the task. As I knew you would be all along.”

  He grinned, relieved. And proud. “No regrets?”

  “And no fears. Weems is gone. There’s only you, now and forever.” She trailed a fingertip up to the hollow at the base of his throat. “I’m game for anything now.”

  “Oh?” Laughing, he pulled her on top of him. “Then how about this?”

  Epilogue

  Through shimmering tears, Lucinda watched Ethan lean down and kiss his bride. The wedding had gone perfectly, even to the point that Mr. Pearsall—with Winnie at his side—was able to walk his daughter down the aisle. Edwina had cried only slightly louder than her infant son, and the other Brodie children had behaved themselves. Thomas had even put in an appearance, stepping inside for the exchange of vows before disappearing again, and Lucinda’s guardian, Mrs. Throckmorton—newly returned from Denver with her two chaperones, Mrs. Bradshaw and Buster Quinn—hadn’t caused a single ruckus. Yet.

  Now, as she and Tait followed the bride and groom from the church, Lucinda felt the prick of more tears, ones that were both happy and sad.

  She was delighted to add these two new friends to her Heartbreak Creek family, and was overjoyed to have her guardian back. But she was upset that most of them would soon be leaving her again.

  Within a few months, Mrs. Throckmorton and her escorts would accompany Maddie and Ash and Rayford Jessup to New York. When the Wallaces and Jessup went on to Scotland to complete the transference of the earl’s title and purchase breeding stock for Ash’s horse herd, her guardian would stay behind in Manhattan to close up her house and settle her affairs before returning to Heartbreak Creek permanently.

  She would miss them dreadfully. Even Thomas, who would accompany the travelers as far as Indiana, where he would stop off to visit Pru. Hopefully they would all return in spring. By then, the depot would be up and running and the trains would be coming through regularly. Ethan would have the Wallace house finished, and would be nearing completion on the one nearby that he was building for himself, his bride, and her three charges.

  And her Heartbreak Creek family would be all together again.
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  But it would be lonely with everyone gone—especially after Declan found a temporary replacement for his sheriff duties, and took his family to the ranch until fall. It seemed just when she was getting everything set up the way it should be, everybody was leaving.

  “It’s only a few months,” Tait whispered in her ear.

  She gave him a look, wondering when he had become so adept at discerning her thoughts.

  “And maybe without everyone to fuss over,” he added, “you’ll spend more time tending yourself.”

  She swatted his shoulder with her hanky. “I don’t need tending.”

  “Not you, perhaps.” His eyes glowed with that fierce protectiveness he had adopted of late. “But the baby might.”

  “Rothschild is fine,” she teased.

  “Uthred,” he teased back.

  The tip of a walking cane poked Tait’s calf. “It’s rude to whisper,” a querulous voice behind him chided. “Especially in front of the partially deaf.”

  “You’re not deaf in the least,” Lucinda said, slowing to loop an arm through her guardian’s. “You’re just overburdened with a surfeit of curiosity.”

  “She means nosy, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Throckmorton asked Tait.

  He simply smiled, and offered a hand to help her down the church steps.

  They had told no one about the child she and Tait were expecting. Lucinda felt it would encroach on the wedding celebrations. This was Audra’s day. Hers would come later in December—God help her. Besides, she wanted to wait a few more weeks just to be sure.

  “After you close up the house in Manhattan,” she said to Mrs. Throckmorton in an effort to change the subject, “what are you going to do about Pringle?”

  Pringle was her guardian’s irascible butler—a testy old curmudgeon Mrs. Throckmorton put up with out of pity since she was convinced he had been in love with her for years—a conviction based on what, Lucinda had no idea. Still, he was part of the family, and if let go, would have a difficult time finding another position at his advanced age.

  “I’m giving him to that foreign person.”

  “Ash?” Lucinda looked at her in surprise. “You’re sending Pringle to Scotland?”

  “It’s the perfect solution. Despite his strenuous objections, I have convinced Mr. Wallace that no self-respecting aristocrat should be without a manservant.”

  Lucinda smiled, imagining that conversation. “And what if Pringle doesn’t want to go?”

  The old woman waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s either that, or Heartbreak Creek, or the streets. At least this way, he can continue to harbor hopes of being reunited with me in the future.”

  Tait started to laugh.

  Lucinda scowled at him.

  He laughed harder . . . until a cane bounced off his shin. “What are you carrying on about, you ruffian?”

  “Your innate wisdom, madam,” he said with a light bow. “I can think of no greater amusement than watching Pringle bring Lord Kirkwell up to snuff. An inspired move.”

  The crafty old woman smiled, her faded blue eyes twinkling with merriment. “I thought so myself. Almost makes me want to go with them simply to see how they get on.”

  “Shall I book you passage?” he asked, hopefully.

  “You shall not. But I will certainly be interested in seeing the changes in that Scottish rogue when they all return. Yoo-hoo,” she called, advancing on Buster Quinn, her man of all tasks, ex-Pinkerton watchdog, and today, chair carrier. “Take it over into the shade, if you will, Mr. Quinn.”

  When they all return, Lucinda thought. That could be in months. Perhaps an entire year. All sorts of things could delay them.

  A feeling of panic gripped her. What if Maddie and Ash decided to stay in Scotland?

  “We could go with them, you know,” Tait said by her ear.

  She reared back. “To Scotland?”

  Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her away from the well-wishers crowding around the newlyweds, and steered her past the little cemetery beside the church.

  “Maybe not that far,” he said, once they were out of earshot of the others. “Not in your condition. But we could visit Pru, then go on to New York to help Mrs. Throckmorton with her move. Wouldn’t you like to visit our old haunts in Manhattan?”

  A chill seeped into her heart. “You miss it. You want to go back.”

  “Back?” He swept his free hand at the distant mountains, the aspens crowding the creek, the children playing kickball behind the church. “And give this up for sooty air? Trade peace and quiet for the constant noise and bustle of the city?” Smiling, he shook his head. “No, Luce. I love Heartbreak Creek. It’s my home—our home. This is where I want our children to grow up. But I wouldn’t mind seeing a play or two and visiting a museum, or dining in some of our favorite restaurants, or standing at the rail of a ferry on the Hudson and watching the city lights come on.”

  “But who would watch over Heartbreak Creek if we left?”

  He laughed. “You’re such a worrier.” Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother. Especially with me there to rein you in.”

  “You.” She poked his arm. “But really, Tait. With so many of us gone, who will oversee the bridge line, and start the new school, and run the hotel, and—”

  “Ethan can handle the railroad part of it,” he cut in. “And it’s time you trained Miriam to run the hotel. And with Audra available when she’s not busy at the newspaper, and Edwina there to help once the Brodies come back from the ranch in the fall, everything will be fine.”

  “As long as Ed stays out of the hotel kitchen,” she murmured.

  They walked in silence while she considered the idea. It did have appeal. She could visit Pru on the way. And Mrs. Throckmorton could certainly use her help with all those knickknacks in her rambling Sixty-ninth Street brownstone. And it would be amusing to see how Ash and Pringle got along. Perhaps while she was in New York, she could refresh her wardrobe, buy some things for the baby, even pick up a few items for the hotel.

  “We could be gone for only a couple of months,” she said after a while. “I want to have Uthred here, not in some boxcar in Missouri.”

  “Rothschild.”

  “In fact, we should have our own railcar. One large enough to accommodate Mrs. Throckmorton and Mrs. Bradshaw and Mr. Quinn, too. With a lavatory. And a decent cook. I hate those dime box lunches.”

  “I’ll see what the Denver and Santa Fe has available.”

  “Perhaps you should get one for Maddie and Ash, too. They are titled, after all.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  She stopped and faced him. “You must promise me we’ll come back, Tait. This is my home.”

  “Mine, too, Luce. I would live nowhere else.”

  She let out a deep breath and patted his arm. “All right, then. We’ll go. But only as far as New York. And we’ll be back by the first snow.”

  “By the first snow. I promise.”

  She lifted her face for a kiss, then looked past him at the musicians setting up on the church steps. “We’d best get back. Declan will be dancing soon, and that’s a treat not to be missed.”

  Smiling, she watched the people she had grown to love gathering to celebrate the latest Heartbreak Creek wedding. Yes, this was where she belonged. With her family. In the town she had helped build.

  But a short vacation before she took on the exhausting role of motherhood might be just the thing. And surely the town could survive without her . . . just for a month or two.

  Read on for a sneak peek of the next Heroes of Heartbreak Creek novel

  SOMETHING IN HIS SMILE

  Available July 2014 from Berkley Sensation

  Prologue

  APRIL 1871, TEXAS

  Rayford Jessup was still a quarter of a mile away from the Hendri
cks place when he heard the screaming.

  He nudged his horse into a run. Fifty yards closer and he could tell the sound was animal, not human.

  A horse.

  By the time he splashed across the small creek running beside the house and barn, the noise had escalated to loud bangs and shouted cries. His own horse snorted, head up, ears pricked, his steps sidling and hesitant. Feeling the beginnings of a shy, Rafe murmured softly and reached down to run a hand along the chestnut’s neck, reminding the young gelding he wasn’t alone, and that he needed to pay attention to his rider, not what was going on in the barn.

  Stopping in front of the house near an odd sheepherder’s-style wagon, Rafe sat for a moment, keeping his hands and legs calm, his voice even and unhurried. While he waited for the gelding to settle, he looked around.

  Like most of the scattered holdings in the dry mesquite and cactus country along the Texas–Mexico border, the Hendricks place was a grit-scoured collection of warped wood corrals, rough outbuildings, and sagging lean-tos bleached by the sun to the color of pitted pewter. That it survived at all was due to the narrow muddy creek that fed the single, wind-damaged cottonwood shading the wood-and-adobe house. Rafe supposed there was some appeal in the endless expanse of open sky, but he much preferred the rolling grass and cedar-dotted hills farther north, or the bluebonnet fields in central Texas.

  Sensing no immediate danger, his horse began to relax, though he remained alert to the shouts and whinnies that continued to come from the barn. Rafe praised him with more pats, then dismounted as two men came out of the double barn doors.

  One was tall—probably as tall as Rafe, but leaner—with graying hair, and the rolling loose-hipped gait of a lifelong horseman. The other man was older, short and stocky. James Hendricks, the man who had sent word for Rafe to come.

  “Glad you made it, Jessup,” Hendricks called, angling toward him. “Got a real mess going here.”

  Rafe didn’t give a response, since none was required. After looping the reins around the hitching rail in front of the house, he turned and studied the stranger.