by Jillian Hart
“Yep, looks like he’s sure thinking pretty hard,” Joe was saying, his hoot of laughter breaking into Gabe’s thoughts. “He must be thinking about the wedding night. I know how taxing that can be on a man, since it’s about all I’ve been thinking about lately.”
“Good luck, big brother.” Nate clapped him on the shoulder.
“Not to be disrespectful, but have a great night.” Joseph winked and shoved something into his hands.
His saddlebag. He’d packed for tonight’s stay. Rain cuffed him in cold, wet punches as he watched his brothers leave with the horse and buggy, heading to the hotel three doors down. The feeling of unease intensified. He searched the boardwalks and streets, but nothing odd stood out to him. A man he didn’t recognize was turning into a saloon at the end of the street, but that was all.
A crowd gathered beneath the covered boardwalk; his ma and pa were arm in arm. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d looked as happy. A dove-gray coat and baby-blue bonnet drew him with a force that made the rain disappear. Her back was to him as she chatted with Savannah and Clara. She stood out, regal as a princess, as gracefully poised as a ballet dancer, and never had he figured such a fine woman would agree to be his. But she was.
And tonight he would make her his completely. He would have the privilege of loosening the button at the base of her throat, of slanting his mouth to hers, of drawing her against him flesh to flesh—
Whoa, there. He clenched his jaw, fisted his hands and still his desire for her inflamed him. His blood thrummed hard enough to echo in his skull, each thump-thump a shameful reminder that he was losing control. His emotions were on the edge and ready to fall. He hiked up the boardwalk, glad of the cold rain bathing his face, glad for the company of his family to keep his mind where it belonged.
“Gabe.” Melody twirled toward him. She sparkled, reaching out one hand, happy to see him.
His feelings sharpened. Intense. Overwhelming. Never had he expected this, not from a straightforward, simple marriage. He was no prize, but she gazed upon him as if he were the best of men. His throat tightened. He couldn’t force his brain to conjure up even one intelligent word. For fear of stuttering and spitting out something unrecognizable, he kept quiet and let Melody’s fingers fit between his. Need telegraphed through her touch, need for what he did not think he had to give.
Maybe for her, he should try.
“I’m so proud of you.” Ma went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, tears threatening again. “And you, Melody. I can’t wait to be a proper mother to you. I’m going to bring by a basket of meals to help you out as soon as the renters are out of Gabe’s house.”
“What house?” She shook her head, stumped. “He said nothing about owning a house.”
“Oh, he’s had it for years.” Mary gave her hand to her husband and allowed him to help her into the front seat of the family buggy. “Gabe used to live there. He said he didn’t like doing his own cooking, but I know he’s a softy at heart. He needs people around him. He needs love.”
“Ma, that’s enough.” He scowled, and no one looking at him would ever dare to describe him as a softy.
Everyone was laughing as they climbed into the buggy and shouted out merry goodbyes as they drove away. With Gabe at her side, she felt enlivened. Hopeful.
“Why didn’t you mention the house before?” She wanted to know.
“It was supposed to be a surprise.” He shook his head, scattering his long hair, probably thinking he looked disreputable when in fact he was like a legend standing in the falling twilight, as if part of the night, larger than life.
“I found another house for my renters to live in and they were kind enough to agree to move quickly,” he explained as they ambled down the boardwalk together, walking in the rain.
She didn’t doubt his renters were friends of his and admired him. She was beginning to see that was how everyone viewed her husband.
“Evenin’, Gabe.” A solid, pleasant-looking man approaching them on the boardwalk tipped his cap. “Mrs. Brooks.”
Mrs. Brooks. That was the first time anyone had called her that. Joy flooded her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling as happy. Her shoes didn’t seem to touch the boardwalk or to make so much as a ripple in the puddles at her feet. Maybe she was floating.
“Good evening to you, Langley,” Gabe answered in his rumbling, gruff way.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” Mr. Langley did not stop to chat, but turned so he walked backward for a few paces.
“They are. Thanks.” Gabe led her around the corner, protecting her from the wind and rain, his closeness the most wonderful thing she’d ever known.
The boardinghouse loomed ahead on Second Street, windows glowing cheerfully. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of him joining her in her room—no, their room. Sure, she was a little nervous, but she would be one with Gabe. She would finally get to discover the bliss of his touch and the heat of his bare skin against hers. She longed to hear her name whispered in the dark. What would loving him be like?
Tender. That was without a doubt. Thrilling. What she wanted more than anything was to be as close to him as she could—and for him to be close to her, to surrender everything.
Her room was at the top of the stairs. He took the key from her and unlocked the door. The hinges squeaked, loud in the silence that had fallen between them. Was he anxious, too? she wondered as she stepped into the room. Her shoes rang in the stillness, her skirts rustling. The lock rattled as Gabe withdrew the key, the hinges squeaked, the door clicked shut and they were alone in the darkness. Anticipation buzzed inside her like a hive of agitated bees. Was he feeling self-conscious, too? Worrying because he wanted everything to be right and wonderful between them?
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” When he spoke, the confident tones of his voice boomed like thunder, unmistakable and sure. His boots echoed on the hardwood, and as he strode around her, the tiny hairs on her arms stood. His nearness was like a force drawing her to him body and soul.
“And you shall be gone for two weeks?” He had explained to her that his office was the only one in the northwestern section of the territory. He had rounds to make to towns in his jurisdiction. Any problems that arose might keep him out of town longer. At any time he could get a dispatch from the territorial prisons or the governor and leave for an undetermined time.
“The renters have promised to be out by early morning,” he continued. There was a scrape of a match tin being drawn across a wooden shelf and the rasp of a match striking. Flame burst to life, light flickering across the contours of Gabe’s chin and mouth. The glass chimney gave a muted clink as he lifted it to light the wick. “I hired a cleaning lady to go through the house, so by afternoon you ought to be able to move in.”
“Alone?” The word escaped before she could stop it. Of course he would want her to move right away. It wouldn’t be financially responsible to pay for a fortnight at the boardinghouse when a home was waiting for her.
“My brothers will bring a horse and wagon with my furniture that had been stored in one of the outsheds on the ranch, load up those trunks of yours and haul it all into the house.” He shook out the match. “Keep in mind this is a little place. Two rooms and a couple of bedrooms. It’s nothing fancy.”
“But it will be our home.” He had to know by now she didn’t care about grand mansions. She’d lost her family members one by one, those she loved most, and she’d learned one great lesson the hard way—love was the true treasure in life.
“I’ll make sure the mercantile and grocery owners know to put any purchases you make on my account.” He closed the space between them to help her out of her coat. “I’m sure Ma will be happy to help you unpack and settle in.”
“Savannah and Clara, too.” She slipped her arms from the garment. The heat from his body and the fan of his breath against the back of her neck made her melt. She ached to lay her cheek against his chest, to have his arms hold her tight.
Soon
, she thought. Tonight she would know the tenderness of Gabe’s love.
“It’s good you have them.” Gabe marched to hang up her coat on the wall peg and to slip out of his jacket.
What was he talking about? She’d been so wrapped up in him she’d forgotten everything else. “Oh, Savannah and Clara. I think we are going to be the best of friends.”
“So I figured.” He knelt in front of the stove. “All that talk over dinner about sewing together and stitching or some such.”
“We were talking about embroidering.”
“You are a good match with my family. No wonder my mother picked you.” He stirred the embers until they glowed. “I’m glad she did.”
That was quite an admission coming from the man of stone, and the warmth of his tone felt delicious. Like the most perfect wedding gift. He might be too tough to say it, but he loved her. She had to believe that was proof. This marriage would not be one-sided after all. She wanted to dance with joy.
“There looks like plenty of light from the lamp for both of us to read by.” He closed the stove door and grabbed up his saddlebag. “Does it sound like a good plan to you?”
“The best of plans.” The nerves were gone, she realized as she settled onto the cushioned window seat and reached for her book.
They were so alike in ways she’d never imagined. Gabe did not whittle or retreat out to the stables to spend an evening. She didn’t know how it was possible that she could fall in love with him more as he drew a volume out of his leather pack. Journey to the Center of the Earth, the same title she held in her hand.
Perhaps their match was not one of convenience but of destiny. Smiling, Melody opened her book to the marked page and began to read.
He’d kept an eye on the small clock on the wall, its black hands marking the passage of the evening. Time had slowed down, giving him plenty of chance to worry. He’d been staring at the same page for ten minutes and he still didn’t know what it said. Professor Lidenbrock was in great peril, but for the life of him, Gabe couldn’t fall into the adventure on the page. Maybe because he had a perfect view of his wife across the top of his book.
She was his wife, his to claim, his to bed. He tore his gaze away from her, hiding a grimace. Not that he wasn’t looking forward to that. Laying Melody down on that soft-looking bed and drawing her close was something he was more than happy to get started on. Except for one thing—the way she looked at him. As if she could feel his attention on her, she glanced up from her book. He’d have to be a blind man not to see the affection glimmering in her blue irises.
It will be all right, he told himself. He needed to believe that he hadn’t made the worst mistake of his life by marrying her. She ducked back to her book, intent on the story in front of her, and he did the same.
Hell, he tried to. But her beauty lured him from the written word. That, and the need knocking through him. That bed was right in the middle of the room and his field of vision. Want for her strummed through him no matter how hard he fought to control it.
The clock struck nine. To his surprise she closed her book. A delicate flush stole across her cheeks.
“I have an early morning,” she explained. “I promised Selma I would continue to work for her.”
“I expected that you would quit.”
“She needs the help, and I want to contribute. I don’t want to be a burden to you.” She set the book aside and stood with a swish of skirts and grace. “You will be out of town half of any given month, and this will fill my time.”
“What if I ordered you to quit?” He closed his book and stood, curious what his bride would say.
“Then I would fear something had happened to your mind, perhaps an apoplexy or a blow to the head, because no man I’d marry would be that foolish.” Dimples framed her mouth, her amazing mouth. “Isn’t that right?”
“I suppose so.” He didn’t want to admire her. He sure as hell didn’t think he would ever be the one without the power in the relationship. He’d best be careful, or he’d be standing on his head just to make Melody happy. No way could he let her mean so much. No way would he ever give her that brand of control over him. “I’ll allow you to work, at least for the time being.”
“Allow?” She raised one brow, holding back laughter. “Gabe, you’ve watched your parents over the years. You can’t tell me you’re unaware of how a marriage works?”
“I know how this marriage is going to work.” He set his jaw, determined not to be swayed by her playful humor. “The man is the head of the household.”
“Poor, poor Gabe. You are about to be terribly disillusioned.” She swirled by him with a whisper of petticoats and sass. “I hope you didn’t think I would be one of those submissive wives unable to speak up for myself.”
“No, I didn’t. But a man can hold out hope, can’t he?”
“Hope? You never had a chance of that.” She let down her hair, and it tumbled in a riot of honeyed silk over her slender shoulders and bounced against her lean back.
The bureau’s round beveled mirror tossed her reflection to him. There was a secret smile shaping her mouth—that mouth he could not wait to claim—and if the faintest trace of tenderness shot to life in his chest, he did his best to fight it down. He intended to keep his desire for his wife free of emotional entanglements. The one thing she didn’t get was authority over his heart.
“If I can’t have a submissive wife, then I suppose I’m glad to have you.” He crossed to her, put his hands on her shoulders.
“You suppose?”
“Fine. I know. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a wife.”
“Wanted?”
“Hell. Dreamed of. Are you happy now?”
“Blissfully.” She turned, the weight of his hands light as he pulled her into his arms, against the comfort of his chest. She relaxed against him, savoring the moment. He felt as invincible as he looked, but his touch to her chin was gentle. He tipped her face to his. His eyes went dark, and she could feel his heartbeat racing beneath the flat of her palm, as crazy as her own fluttering pulse. The line of his mouth eased and closer he came, inch by inch until his lips slanted over hers in the lightest kiss.
Sensation washed through her like a slam of an intense ocean wave. Startled, she gasped and he kissed her again, one mesmerizing brush of his lips after another. His mouth was hot velvet. His kiss was like being swept out on a dizzying, exhilarating sea. A thousand lapping waves of pleasure coursed through her as she curled her fingers into his shirt and held on, wanting more.
He obliged with a groan and twined his fingers into her hair, cradling her neck as he deepened the kiss. At the first sweep of his tongue against the seam of her lips, she opened for him. Her eyes drifted shut, and she was lost. Did he know how much she loved him? Could he feel it in the tenderness of her kiss?
“You’re trembling.” He broke away, one hand at her nape, the other tenderly cradling her jaw and cheek.
“You overwhelm me.”
“I’m not done yet, so I’d better get you sitting down.” He didn’t want to admit he felt a little shaky himself. She was like fine whiskey a man wanted to savor, but it packed a punch. Sweat popped out on his brow as he led her around the corner of the bed and waited while she sat on the edge.
“Better?” he asked.
“That was quite a kiss.” She nodded, blushing.
“Glad you liked it,” he quipped, settling onto the mattress beside her.
“Very much.” Her confession was accompanied by another shy blush.
He hardly recognized her. Starry-eyed and dreamy, she looked untouched and untroubled, a bride awaiting her beloved. She was lustrous, her gaze gentle with the most amazing affection he’d ever seen. He wanted nothing more than to unbutton her pearl by pearl, to peel back the layers of cotton and silk and kiss the treasures hidden there, to touch every part of her, to hear her call his name with her release.
But her touch stopped him. The brush of her hand to his jaw should have bee
n pleasurable, just simple physical attraction between a man and his wife. But it went deeper, as if she were trying to touch a more intimate place within him, a place he could not go.
“I love you, Gabe.” Her bashful confession confirmed his worst fears.
“Love?” He pulled away from her, hating the hurt that pinched instantly across her beautiful face. Panic overwhelmed him. He leaped to his feet and paced the length of the room, his steps ringing with fury. His emotions felt too powerful, ready to rise up and take him over. The lure of her love tightened around him like a noose and he had to throw it off, stay in control, keep his defenses strong.
“I thought you understood.” He ground out the words, doing his best to soften his tone, but they came out like blows. “I don’t love you. I don’t want to love you. Love has no place in this marriage.”
“But I can’t help what I feel.” Tears silvered her eyes, hovering, but did not fall. “I thought you felt the same. I thought I sensed it from you—”
“This isn’t a fairy tale.” He raked his hands through his hair. Furious, coming apart at the seams. “We had an agreement, Melody.”
“I know.” Miserable, she blinked back her tears, spine straight, chin up, refusing to let them fall.
She sat there fighting so hard. She was a good woman—she would be a good wife. That’s all he’d ever wanted. Something guaranteed, something predictable, something that wouldn’t twist him all up in knots, turn him upside down and leave him raw and bleeding from the inside out.
Looked as if it was too late for that.
“I need to take a walk,” he said and, tempering his anger the best he could, he grabbed his coat from the peg and walked out of the room.
Chapter Eight
Melody squeezed her eyes shut, the click of the door echoing in the shadowed corners and in the chambers of her heart. Gabe’s anger bounced around in her skull, obliterating the pure, sweet love that had infiltrated every part of her. She went cold, unable to forget what he’d said. I don’t love you. I don’t want to love you. Love has no place in this marriage.
