Gerrity'S Bride

by Carolyn Davidson

  “We’d about given up on you, Emmaline,” he drawled. He lifted one eyebrow, his gaze moving over her person in a caressing fashion. “Tessie was wondering if you were going to sleep all day, but I assured her that you’d be up before noon, at least.” He smiled at his young sister and then, with a nod of his head, continued. “I told Tessie that you’d be spending some time with her today, if that’s all right.”

  Emmaline looked at him, her mouth pursed, her hands clutching the edge of the table. “Will you be planning all my days, Matthew, or is this an exception?”

  He bowed his head for just a second, then lifted it to meet the aggravation flaring in her eyes. “Until we decide just where the threat is coming from, I want you to stay in or close to the house. Today seemed like a good time for you and Tessie to set up a regular routine. Now that you’re in charge of the running of this household, you’ll probably have changes to make.”

  She shook her head, then looked up at Maria, who hovered in the doorway. “I think the house has been in good hands. I’m willing to go along with things as they are for a while.”

  Serving platter in hand, Maria approached the table. With deft touches, she filled the plates, spooning out heaping mounds of fluffy eggs, then garnishing each serving with thinly sliced ham. Beside Emmaline’s chair, she paused, her hesitation a tribute to the young woman.

  “You are the new mistress of this house,” she said firmly. “We will spend many years here together, Miss Emmaline, and today will be the beginning.” She emptied her platter and stepped back, her ever-observant eyes checking every detail. “I think you all need some more coffee. And some milk for Theresa.”

  Emmaline shifted in her chair and picked up her fork. She sought the smiling face of her sister. “May I sit in on your lessons this morning?”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Olivia, slipping with decorum into the dining room and finding her seat at the table. “Please pardon my lateness,” she added apologetically. “I lingered later than I had planned at my early-morning reading.”

  “Then plan on me joining you,” Emmaline said, with a tender smile for her little sister.

  At Tessie’s delighted and exuberant nod, she relaxed. She tasted the steaming eggs, eyes half-closed, savoring the faintly spiced flavor. Then, reluctantly but with determination, she looked at Matt, her face serene, her uncertainty subdued.

  Beneath the amusement that still lit his eyes was a renewed glimpse of the passion he had bestowed on her in such lavish detail throughout the night. She shivered with a barely discernible tremor. The daring of the man, she thought, lowering her eyes once more to her plate, her tongue tracing the edge of her lip. He looks like a barn cat stalking a poor little field mouse, she decided, unaware of the rosy hue that tinted her cheekbones.

  At the end of the table, the object of her thoughts was more than aware of the flux of emotions his scrutiny had set flowing within his bride. She looks like a paragon of housewifely virtue, he thought with delight. And of all the occupants of this room, he was the only one who knew that her slight tremor had signified her awareness of him. The flush painting her cheeks with delicate color gave away the memories running rampant in her mind, even as she solemnly chewed on the bite of ham she had delivered to those pink, full lips with total equanimity.

  He bent to his plate and made quick progress, his gaze never far from the figure of Emmaline, speaking only in short replies to the questions that Theresa aimed in his direction. Could she go riding this afternoon? Would he like to see her drawings from yesterday? Did he think the new puppies were ready to sell yet? To all her queries he gave succinct answers, and Tessie smiled and pouted in quick sequence.

  “Why can’t I go riding, Matthew?” she asked, with only barely subdued arrogance. “Tucker says I’m pret’ near as good a rider as Miss Olivia.”

  His chin lifted as he considered her rebellious stance. Quietly he turned her words about and delivered them with deliberation. “Tucker says you are almost as good in the saddle as your teacher, but you need a lot of practice in handling the reins, Tessie. You’re just a little girl, and bragging about your accomplishments isn’t polite.”

  “Then maybe I really need some more practice,” she said quickly, brushing aside the intended chastisement of his words and smiling brightly in his direction.

  “I could work with her this afternoon,” Emmaline volunteered, her mouth quirking with amusement as she watched Tessie wheedle her way past the refusal her brother had issued.

  “I won’t be around this afternoon. I have to go out with a couple of the men to check the herd of cattle we’re sending to the stockyard in Yuma. Maybe tomorrow,” he said, his look slanting toward Emmaline in warning.

  Her chin lifted, and her eyes defied the unspoken refusal he’d issued. “We’ll see,” she said demurely, her words sweetly spoken and her smile turned with sisterly approval on Theresa.

  “Emmaline, walk me out to the porch!” It was a direct command, and he issued it with barely concealed anger.

  “Certainly,” she said, folding her napkin carefully and placing it beside her plate before she rose and left the table.

  He strode ahead of her into the hallway and then turned abruptly to face her. She faltered at his sudden movement and was caught off guard when he reached for her. Dragging her by one hand, he headed for the door at the end of the short corridor and spun her to wedge her against the hard wooden surface. She was breathless, wide-eyed and aghast at his behavior. Her mouth opened to protest his high-handedness and her eyes glittered with disapproval, but he gave her no room in which to vent her displeasure.

  With practiced aim, he covered her mouth with his own. His hands were hard and ungentle as he grasped her shoulders and, with a strength she marveled at, lifted her against his rigid body. Not until he had her quiet, subdued and malleable against his hard form did he relent. And then only in the degree of pressure he had used against her soft curves and within the depths of her mouth.

  She was plastered against his length, breathless and totally at his mercy, and she searched her heart for the anger she was certain was her just due. To her dismay, the urge to press herself even closer to his hard body was overcoming the need to protest his actions. Her eyes were closed, but beneath her lids she saw a display of color, splintering across her vision and magnified with each touch of his mouth against hers, each brush of his tongue and each movement of his lips.

  Her hands were clenched against his chest, and she felt each bone as a separate entity as she splayed them against the firm width of him, edging toward the handhold of his shoulders. But it was only his slight unbending that allowed that process to be complete and, with a sigh that quivered in her breast, she reached her goal, her hands gripping him with a strength that pleased him, her fingers clutching for purchase against the rough cotton of his shirt.

  He lifted his head, and his eyes were dark, penetrating and perceptive. He saw the quivering of her mouth, the flaring of her nostrils as she breathed in his scent and the flutter of her lashes as she lifted them reluctantly. That this woman, this bundle of feminine wiles and softly rounded curves, was his to possess was almost more than he could accept as his due. But the fact was, she was well on her way to hauling him in and putting the bit in his mouth, he realized darkly, and the thought tightened his grip as he flexed his hands at the back of her waist. She had beguiled him throughout the night hours and aggravated him almost beyond the boundaries his temper would bear this morning. Now she lay against him in surrender, and he was seized by the urge to carry her to the bedroom he had left just an hour ago and spend his frustration upon her fragile form.

  She blinked once more and looked at him in confusion. His hands were hard against her back, his long length was ungiving against her breasts and belly, and he glared at her with eyes that sparked fire.

  “Look, Emmaline,” he said, in an undertone that did not lack force. “I can’t be doin’ my work if I’m worrying about you. I need you to promise th
at you’ll stay inside or with Claude all day. Don’t be meandering about, gettin’ into trouble, you hear?”

  Her chin tilted even more, and she felt the strain in the back of her neck as she fought to meet his gaze with equal force. “I don’t intend to ‘get into trouble’ today,” she said emphatically, albeit softly, aware that their voices would carry to the dining room. “I intend to spend the day with Theresa and Maria and perhaps work in the corral with Claude and my sister this afternoon. If that meets with your approval,” she added with proud finality.

  He stepped back from her, and his grin was cocky once more. Deliberately he lifted his hat from the rack on one side of the hall and placed it squarely on his head, crushing the dark hair beneath its brim. His nod was polite, but his eyes were alight with the same amused glow that had met her earlier, as he lifted her to one side before he opened the door.

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear you say,” he told her cheerfully as he strode past. And then, as he bypassed the steps and jumped to the ground, he laughed. It was a full, hearty sound that brushed her ears and drew her lips into a thin line.

  Not for the world would she reveal her chagrin. Not for a moment would she allow him this victory. And so she forced the light note into her voice that would get his attention and stepped out onto the porch as she sang out the words that would halt him in his tracks.

  “But I’ll be spending most of the day planning our party, Matthew,” she warbled.

  His back stiffened and he skidded to a stop, midway across the small grassy expanse that made up the backyard. He turned, and his expression stunned her.

  “Good,” he said, his smile triumphant. “That oughta keep you busy for a couple of days.”

  “Oooh!” She drew out the sound, hiding her dismay. Where was the anger she had anticipated, the irritation she had been certain he would not be able to contain?

  “Yep...best idea you’ve had all day, Emmaline,” he said cheerfully, tipping his hat to her and setting off once more to the barn.

  She stamped her foot and looked about quickly, lest she be caught in such a childish display. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at his retreating back, and she thrust her hands into the deep pockets of her dress. And yet she could not erase the faint warmth lingering within her as she turned to the door and entered the house.

  * * *

  It seemed a party would include the whole of the countryside, Emmaline finally realized. Maria had taken up the banner with little urging and was busily planning a menu that sounded more appropriate for a jamboree than for a wedding reception.

  There would have to be a compromise of sorts, Emmaline decided firmly. Something between a barbecue and a dinner party, with the barbecue being the choice of Matthew, of course. Glumly she realized that her thoughts of a rather formal introduction to the neighboring ranchers and the townspeople would be going by the boards. More likely was Maria’s suggestion, complete with a whole steer turning on a spit over an open pit. Somehow the thought was gaining a bit more of her approval as she dwelled on the idea of having the party outside, keeping the community outdoors, beneath the scattering of trees that bounded the area between the house and the barns.

  Maria sighed with satisfaction. “I think we’ve listed everything we’ll need from town,” she said. Passing her list across the table for Emmaline’s approval, she narrowed her eyes as she concentrated. “We’ll need to decide on tables and benches, too.”

  Emmaline glanced up from the paper she’d scanned, still wondering at the enormous amounts of food Maria deemed necessary. “We need tables? Can’t they all sit under the trees and eat?” she asked, considering the task of locating seats for so many guests.

  Maria chuckled and shook her head. “The young ones will be happy to sit on the ground, but the men will sit about the tables and argue and tell stories for hours.”

  “What about the women?” Emmaline wanted to know.

  Maria shrugged. “They will serve their men and have their own place to sit and eat.”

  “How will we locate so many tables and benches?” Emmaline looked at the list she held. The planning was assuming immense proportions.

  “Our men will make them, out in the barn. They have a stack of wood, ready to use for new stalls or putting up partitions. They just use it for tables this time, and then for something else later.”

  Such temporary measures were foreign to Emmaline. Used to fine china and formal dining, she was finding it difficult to form a picture in her mind of the party to come. Serving the menfolk was not her pleasure, but she supposed that for Matt’s sake she could be a docile wife for one day. She laughed as she thought of herself acting that part, but then sobered as she realized that already she was fitting into the mold he expected her to fill.

  “I’ll leave it up to you, Maria.” She rose and gripped her list firmly. “I’ll have to write out the invitations and have them delivered.”

  “One of the men can take them to town, next time we send someone in for supplies,” Maria said. “The rest can be given to the neighbors as we see them. Someone is always stopping by.”

  Such a haphazard way of doing things was beyond her, Emmaline decided forlornly as she went down the hallway to Matthew’s office. There she pulled his large armchair from behind the desk and plopped into it, feeling small against the high-backed piece of furniture. Made to fit her father’s big frame, it dwarfed her, and she snuggled into its soft leather depths as she sensed another facet in the circle of her life here.

  He’d sat here, the man who had fathered her and loved her for two short years. Dimly she remembered being in this room as a child, a baby, really, not old enough to climb into this chair by herself. She recalled looking over the wide expanse of the desk, held firmly in the arms of the man who cuddled her here. There, in the doorway, she remembered her mother, slim, fair and unsmiling. Always unhappy, always speaking in a fretful voice, which, even now, was imprinted on her memory.

  She closed her eyes against the vision, but it returned still more clearly. Amazed, she recalled the deep, harsh sounds of her father’s words. Not the meaning, just the tones that had sent her flying to her mother’s arms for comfort as he argued against the peevish words that beat against her ears.

  It had been the day they left, she realized. He’d been holding her and hugging her to himself, and then her mother had come for her, had commanded her to leave his arms, and she’d done so, ever the obedient child. Only with her father had she been laughing and mischievous. Early on, she had learned that in her mother’s presence she must behave, must be quiet and subdued.

  She frowned and her eyes opened at the memory. Even in her growing-up years, she’d learned to withhold her laughter, relaxing only in the barns, where she was accepted by the men who dealt with the horses and who welcomed her with gentle courtesy.

  And now, here with Matthew, she’d once more felt able to break the mold, that tightly restricted life that had labeled her a lady, had kept her dignity inviolate and preserved her to this point. She’d been a girl on the verge of womanhood, needing only the impetus of Matthew’s touch to propel her into his arms and the knowledge that she was where she belonged, finally.

  It’s come full circle, she thought. My earliest memories are here, in this room. And now I’ve returned. To the man my father chose for me. The rebellion she’d harbored over that choice—or the lack of it—had somehow become subdued, almost forgotten, in the days past. Unconsciously she’d begun to accept her father’s will as just that...his will for her life, his inheritance to her.

  “He really cared about me,” she whispered in the quiet of the room. “He wanted me to be here, and this was the only way he could be sure I’d be able to stay.” The thought warmed her, and she hugged herself as she relaxed into the chair, pulling her feet up to curl beneath her bottom.

  It was there that Matt found her, her head tipped against the leather upholstery, her hands lying loosely folded in her lap, her eyes shut and her mouth soft as she
breathed slowly, relaxed in sleep.

  He stood in the doorway and gazed his fill, aware of the rare treat he was offered. Bristly more often than not, well armed against his every suggestion, she pitted her soft feminine strength against him with fierce splendor. He reveled in every battle, every word spoken, every thrust of her barbed tongue. He had let her have her way while it pleased him, and then reeled her in for his pleasure, delighting in her sputtering and feasting on her sparkling wit and flashing temper.

  Now she was quiet, asleep in the shadowed room, unaware she had taken the prescribed siesta that she had opposed as unnecessary. Other days since her arrival, she had retreated to her room during these silent afternoon hours when the whole house shut down for a peaceful repose, but he was sure she had written letters or read one of her innumerable books while everyone else settled back for an hour of quiet rest.

  His smile widened as he approached her and, bending, he lifted her into his arms, soothing her murmured protests as he gathered her close and retreated to the deep cushions of the leather couch beneath the window. There he laid her gently on her side, snug against the high back. Quickly he pulled off his boots and lay down beside her, molding her slender form close to his own muscular body.

  She smiled, as if she were caught up in a particularly pleasant dream, and snuggled against him, seeking the warmth that radiated through the layers of clothing that separated them. Her murmurs were soft against his throat as she tilted her head up to nuzzle his flesh, and he shivered at the sensations she evoked.

  It was enough, this tenderness she gave him. Although his body readied itself for more, he suppressed the reflexes that urged him to press her against the evidence of his need. For now, he would hold her, bask in the gentle movement of her mouth against the weathered flesh of his neck, enjoy the pressure of her breasts against his chest and sate himself with her fragrance. His eyes flickered shut as he held her with a possessive yearning, his arms about her, his hands curved to hold her close, one about her rounded bottom, the other across her back. Gently he slid one leg between hers and felt the clasp of her thighs as she tightened them about his knee. A low growl passed his lips before he could stop it, and he shuddered again as he restrained the urges that prodded him.