“Clay,” Juliana whispered. And then she ran to him, threw her arms around him.
Tentatively, he put his arms around her, too. After a stiff moment, he hugged her back. “You’re looking well,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
Juliana blushed, con founded by joy, pushing back far enough to look up into her brother’s face. “When you didn’t answer my letter, I thought—”
He smiled, glancing down at her protruding middle. “You did say you were married?” he teased.
She showed him her wedding ring. “How long have you been in town? The train came through three days ago.”
“I’ve been staying at the Comstock Hotel, trying to work up the courage to hire a buggy over at the livery stable and drive out to the ranch to see you.”
“Oh, Clay—surely you knew you’d be welcome.”
“I didn’t know,” he replied. “According to my wife, I’ve been behaving like an ogre ever since you refused to marry John Holden, and I’m afraid Nora’s right about that.”
Juliana’s eyes misted over. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
He kissed her forehead. “I’d like to meet this husband of yours,” he told her. “Your letter made him sound like a paragon.”
The door opened again, and Lincoln was there.
Still tearful—tears came more easily with her pregnancy—Juliana moved to Lincoln’s side. He put an arm around her, regarding Clay curiously and then with a grin of recognition.
“You must be Clay Mitchell,” he said. “With eyes that color, you have to be related to Juliana.”
Clay nodded in acknowledgment. “And you’re Lincoln Creed,” he replied.
“Papa!” Billy yelled, racing across the store to be hoisted into Lincoln’s arms. Lincoln ruffled the boy’s hair and laughed.
Clay’s eyes widened momentarily, but then he smiled again.
“Daisy,” Juliana called, “Gracie—come and meet your uncle Clay.”
He charmed those two little girls by executing a gentle manly bow. “Ladies,” he said solemnly, making them giggle.
Still carrying Billy, Lincoln excused himself and went to the counter to speak to Fred Willand about their grocery order.
“You will come out to the ranch and stay with us for a few days, won’t you, Clay?” Juliana asked quietly.
“I’d be glad to,” Clay assured her.
On the way home, having collected his bag from the hotel, Clay rode on the wagon seat next to Juliana with Lincoln at the reins, while Gracie, Billy and Daisy bounced along in back like always, seated among crates of groceries.
“He doesn’t seem so bad to me,” Lincoln said much later, when he and Juliana had retired to their room for the night. They’d talked right through supper, the three of them, and for a couple of hours afterward.
“This is the Clay I knew before,” Juliana said, choking up a little. The change in her brother seemed miraculous.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lincoln pulled off one boot and then the other. Juliana remembered the night he’d ridden a mule through three feet of snow, nearly losing his fingers and toes, if not his life.
“I’ve never had a sister,” Lincoln said, “but I can imagine that if I did, I might have some pretty hardheaded opinions about what she should and shouldn’t do.”
Juliana stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. “We were so young when our mother died,” she mused. She’d long since told Lincoln all about her family history, John Holden and his daughters, secretly studying to be a teacher when her grand mother believed she was in finishing school. “Clay’s a little older, and I guess I expected him to be strong, maybe our grand mother did, too. But he was really a child, as scared and lost and hurt as I was. I hate to think what must have gone through his mind when our father left us at Grandmama’s that day. Clay knew, even if I didn’t, that Father wasn’t coming back—and that meant he had to be a man from then on.”
Lincoln came to stand behind her, bent his head to kiss her right ear. His hands caressed her round belly. “That corn bread you served at supper tonight was pretty good,” he said.
She laughed. “It should have been,” she replied. “I’ve been practicing for six months.”
He took the brush from her hand, set it aside on the bureau, turned her around to face him. “Tom says you’ll make a fine cook one of these days.”
Juliana smiled. Tom had been giving her cookery lessons, and she was making progress. “He also says I try too hard.” She slipped her arms around his middle and leaned against him. “What else can I do? I want to keep my husband happy.”
Lincoln tasted her mouth, once, twice, a third time. “Your husband,” he said, “is very happy.”
She looked up at him. “I love you, Lincoln Creed. Just when I think I couldn’t possibly love you more than I already do, something happens to prove me wrong.”
“I love you, too,” he replied, tracing the length of her cheek, and then her neck, with the lightest pass of his lips. He eased her toward the bed, still nibbling at her.
He put out the lamp.
“Lincoln, you’re not listening to me,” Juliana said, laughing a little, as delightfully nervous, in some ways, as she’d been on their wedding night.
He lowered her to the bed. “You’re right,” he said, kissing her again. “I’m not.”
Already cherishing their unborn child, Lincoln was unspeakably tender as he caressed her belly and then slowly raised her night gown, first to her knees, then her thighs, then her shoulders. With a groan of welcome, she raised her arms so he could slip the garment off over her head.
He kissed her distended stomach, his lips warm and faintly moist.
Juliana groaned again, rolled her eyes back in content ment and closed them, giving herself up to Lincoln, body, mind and spirit.
He loved the fullness of her breasts, kissed and nibbled at her taut nipples until she said his name in a ragged whisper.
Then he moved down along her breast bone, over her middle, pausing at her abdomen before using his fingers to part the nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs. She whimpered as he stroked her with a slow, gentle motion of his hand, and although her eyes remained shut, she felt the dark burn of his gaze on her face. She knew he was silently asking her permission, and she nodded.
He made a sound that was wholly male, low in his throat.
In Lincoln’s arms, Juliana had learned a sort of pleasure that she’d never imagined, and that night was no exception. Even before they’d conceived this child they both wanted so much, he’d always been careful, raising her to an explosive ecstasy and at the same time making her feel utterly safe.
For a time, he simply made slow circles with his fingers, and Juliana began to writhe in need and surrender, in triumph and exultation.
Her breath became shallow and rapid as he teased her. Then the first release came, shattering and sweet, leaving her shuddering. Knowing there would be more—much more—before the night was over, only in creased her wanting.
Lincoln used his mouth on her next, and though it was scandalous, Juliana gloried in the intimacy of it, in the help less ness and the sheer power of the sensations he wrought in her, with every nibble, every flick of his tongue.
Again, she broke apart in a million fiery pieces, a primitive cry of satisfaction escaping her throat, but going no further than the thick log walls of their bedroom.
Only when Lincoln was certain he’d untied every knot in Juliana’s still-quivering body did he mount her, and ease into her depths with that heartrending tenderness she’d come to expect of him.
They rocked together, and she reached yet another pinnacle, softer and yet more intense than the others that had gone before. When Lincoln finally let himself go, Juliana finally opened her eyes, stroking his strong shoulders, his chest, his sides, her hands moving in ways that both soothed and inflamed.
Then he tensed upon her, and she felt life itself spill within her, the life that had brought their child into bei
ng, and Gracie, as well.
“I love you,” Juliana whispered.
He sighed, kissed her cheek, her neck. Fell beside her. “And I love you, Juliana Creed.”
IF JULIANA HAD YET TO MASTER cooking and housekeeping, she had learned to drive a buggy. On the morning of Clay’s departure for Denver, she was the one who drove him to the depot in town.
“I’ve got eyes,” Clay said, grinning, as they pulled up to await the train, “but I still need to hear you say it. Are you happy, Juliana?”
She kissed his cheek. “Ecstatic,” she said, meaning it.
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat—his fine clothes made him stand out like the proverbial sore thumb in rustic Stillwater Springs—and brought out a thick envelope. Offered it to her.
In the distance, the train whistle shrilled.
Puzzled, Juliana looked at the envelope, then at Clay’s face. “What…?”
“Your inheritance,” Clay said. “These documents transfer full control to you. You’re a rich woman, Juliana. Now that I’ve taken Lincoln Creed’s measure, I know you’ll be all right.”
Stunned—it had been a long time since she’d given a thought to money—she accepted the papers. Then she beamed. “Now we can build a hay barn right on the range,” she chimed in happy realization. “And the cattle will have some where to take shelter when the snows come.”
Clay laughed. “Some women would want diamonds, or fine dresses.”
The train chugged into view, and Juliana saddened a little at the sight, not willing to be parted from this brother she had loved for so long. “You’ll come back when you can, won’t you? And bring Nora and the children?”
He touched her cheek. “We’ll be here,” he said. “And you’re welcome at our place anytime, Juliana. You and Lincoln and this brood of yours.”
With that, he climbed down from the buggy, took his traveling case from under the seat. He looked up at her, winked, and then turned away, walking purposefully toward the depot.
Juliana waited until the train had pulled out before heading for home.
Lincoln was there, having minded the children while she was gone, and Ben and Rose-of-Sharon sat at the table, baby Joshua in his mother’s arms. For all the difficulties of his birth, the infant was thriving.
Once the Gainers had left, Juliana took the envelope from her handbag and laid it on the table.
“What’s this?” Lincoln asked.
“Open it,” Juliana said lightly, “and read for yourself.”
Lincoln hesitated, then did as he was told. His eyes widened as he read. “That’s one hell of a lot of money,” he said finally. “You are a wealthy woman, Juliana.”
“We are wealthy,” she clarified.
He grinned, and only then did she realize how tensely he’d held his shoulders while he read. Had he thought, for the briefest moment, that she’d leave him now that she was a woman of in de pen dent means?
She went to him, slipped her arms around his lean, hard waist. “I told Clay we’d be building a big hay barn out on the range, first thing.”
Lincoln chuckled. “Speaking of the range, I’d better get out there. We’ve still got a few calves taking their time to get born.”
Juliana began rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll have supper ready when you get back,” she said.
He gave a comical wince, and she slapped at him play fully.
Once he’d gone, Juliana took a deep breath. It was time to make another attempt at corn bread.
From the Stillwater Springs Courier:
September 18, 1911
This editor is proud to announce the
birth of a nephew,
Michael Thomas Creed.
Welcome.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7444-4
THE CHRISTMAS BRIDES
Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the individual works as follows:
A MCKETTRICK CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2008 by Linda Lael Miller
A CREED COUNTRY CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2009 by Linda Lael Miller
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