Gerrity'S Bride

by Carolyn Davidson

  “I wear a split leather skirt that belonged to Matt’s mother,” Emmaline said quietly. “I’ve been riding several times without my sidesaddle, and I’ve found it to be much more comfortable, Grandmother.”

  “I’m sure you managed to ride in sufficient comfort with a lady’s saddle at home,” the woman answered sharply.

  Emmaline couldn’t find it in her heart to lie. “I did ride astride, more than once, before I came here.” she confessed, her voice subdued.

  “Indeed?” The single word spoke volumes.

  “Yes...the trainers let me when I rode the three-year-olds in the ring. It would have been confusing for them to have my weight unevenly distributed, when they were used to the men riding them astride.”

  “I think there were several things going on that I was not privy to,” Clara said coldly.

  “Well, I think there were several things goin’ on that Emmaline was not privy to, also,” Matt said smoothly, turning back toward the dining room table.

  “Matt!” She turned to him, her eyes pleading. Don’t make a fuss, she wanted to say. Don’t bring up the letters. I can’t face another session with my grandmother, she thought in despair. Please Matt, she begged silently. Her mouth quivered as she looked up at the tall man who stood before her. Not now...not now...

  He understood. His head nodded, and he drew in a breath as he reined in the irritation that the gentlewoman from Kentucky managed to rile up so easily. Emmaline was riding the edge, he realized as he watched her blink back the tears that had risen to shine within the depths of her blue eyes. Her lips were trembling, and she was all in a fuss. The least he could do, he realized with a deeply drawn breath, was to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself.

  “You wanta come along, Em?” he asked gently.

  She hesitated for but a moment, and then better manners prevailed. “No, I’ll stay here with Grandmother. Will you be back for dinner?”

  “I certainly need to be here by noontime, if that fits in with your morning, Matt,” her grandfather interjected with an apologetic look. “Emmaline’s grandmother and I should be heading back to Forbes Junction this afternoon, in order to get the evening train.”

  Matt nodded. “We’ll only be a couple hours. Tessie will be busy with her schoolwork this morning, won’t she, Olivia?” His attention turned to the young woman who still sat at the table with her charge.

  “Do I hafta, Matt?” Tessie piped up, wiggling in her chair as her dark eyes glittered with excitement. “Can’t I have a holiday today and be with Emmie?”

  “I think it will be all right,” Olivia said, her gaze veiled as it lifted to meet Matt’s. “I have some things to do in town. Perhaps I’ll take the light buggy in, or ask one of the men to drive me.”

  Matt nodded, satisfied for the moment that his household was in order. “That’ll be fine all around,” he said, heading from the house, his boots noisy against the wooden floor of the hallway.

  Behind him, Tessie slipped from her chair and rounded the table to clasp Emmaline’s hand with her small fingers. “We’ll have fun, won’t we, Emmie?” she asked, with a look of hope lighting her fragile features.

  A brisk nod was her answer, and with a giggle of delight, the child tugged at her sister, eager to enjoy her hours of freedom.

  * * *

  They were gone, and it was as if they had never been here. Emmaline’s mind wove past each moment of her grandparent’s visit, seeking one particle of comfort from the event. It was not to be. They’d left in the middle of the afternoon, leaving her numb with defeat. Finally, only the ceaseless chatter coming from Tessie’s direction had been able to penetrate the dull lassitude that enveloped her. Only Tessie’s pleading, jump rope in hand had brought a glimmer of interest to her blue eyes and caused her to put away her disappointment. She’d smiled her agreement, and taken up the lesson with her usual vigor.

  The afternoon sun blistered the sandy ground, the heat rising in waves that forbade walking barefoot in the courtyard. Emmaline sat on a wooden bench tucked beneath the overhang, one tingling foot clutched in her hand, her fingers brushing quickly to remove the grains of sand that clung to her tender sole.

  “I told you not to skip rope barefoot,” Tessie reminded her airily. Parked beside her sister, she smothered an arrogant grin as she repeated her warning.

  Emmaline cast her a glance that took in the amusement her small sister attempted to conceal. “I sure wish you hadn’t been right,” she said mournfully, leaning closer to inspect the damage. The flesh was pink, but her sprightly movements had been quick enough to prevent actual burning, she was pleased to note.

  “I never saw you move so fast, though,” Tessie said, with twitching lips that struggled to hide her amusement. “You only jumped twice, but they sure were high jumps, Emmie.”

  From behind them, a chuckle announced a hidden watcher. “Yeah, that sure was some fancy steppin’ you did, Miss Emmaline,” said the man who lingered just inside the open terrace doorway.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Emmaline dropped her foot to the ground, assuming a posture of indolence as she brushed at the sand on her skirt. “Spying, Gerrity?”

  He was in shadow, but she sensed the difference in his mien, the subtle shading in his tone, the absence of the strain that had veiled his every word and phrase during the past day. A surge of emotion brought a quickening to her breath as Emmaline looked back at him once more. He’s been protecting me, she thought, afraid they’d hurt me. The pleasure that welled up within her suffused her cheeks with a pink stain, blurring her eyes with unbidden tears as she considered the knowledge of her love for this man.

  So quickly it had come, like a bolt of summer lightning, this overwhelming sureness that Matthew Gerrity owned her heart. She’d known, she’d really known, that it was all right before now, that she felt good about being his wife, she realized, aware that his gaze held her in thrall. But it was more than that, more than just “all right.” She hadn’t known this was how it felt, to love...to love.

  She rose slowly, and Tessie reached for her skirt, small fingers tangling in the soft fabric.

  “Where you goin’, Emmie?”

  Her smile was distracted as she looked down. “I thought I’d go indoors for a while, Tessie. It’s pretty warm here.” The words were breathless; indeed, she sensed a strange lethargy as she looked up once more at the man whose dark gaze seemed to pierce her to her depths. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she blinked at him from swimming eyes. Her lips compressed as her fingers moved upward against her face, until both palms were pressing against the flush that played across her cheekbones. Beneath her fingertips, she felt a trickle of moisture as a tear slid past the barrier of her lashes.

  “Em?” His voice was low, but his movement was rapid as he straightened from the lazy stance he’d taken against the wall. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked quietly, his eyes intent on the glistening blue eyes that viewed him through a veil of tears. His hand touched her arm as she walked past him, but there was no hesitation in her step.

  “I just need to wash my face, Matt,” she muttered, intent on escaping to her bedroom.

  “Emmie, are you cryin’?” Tessie asked in a wobbly little voice. She stood slump-shouldered, looking forlorn and abandoned as she watched her sister brush past. “You shouldn’ta teased her like that, Matthew! You made Emmie feel bad!”

  Matt’s attention swerved in her direction, pulled by the anguish that painted her words. “Emmie’s fine,” he assured the child, stepping to where she stood, then crouching before her to tilt her head back with one long forefinger beneath her chin. “She just got too hot out here in the sun,” he told her, forcing a lightness to his voice he was far from feeling. “She didn’t mind us teasin’ her, sweetheart.”

  Behind him, he heard the closing of a door and knew it was the farthest bedroom down the hallway, the one he shared with Emmaline.

  “Come on, Tessie. Let’s go see what Maria has to offer us for a hot afternoon. I’l
l bet she made something cool to drink.” Clasping her fingers in his, he led the child through the living room and into the kitchen at the back of the house.

  “Maria, what’ve you got for Tessie to cool her off? She and Emmaline got all hot and bothered out in the courtyard.”

  “Maybe some nice buttermilk?” Maria offered with a teasing look at the child.

  “Yuck!” Theresa answered inelegantly. “That’s bad stuff, Maria. Don’t we have any lemonade?”

  “Sí, we can find you some, I’m sure,” the housekeeper assured the child. “And you, Mr. Matt?”

  “Nothing for me. Just let Tessie sit out here with you for a few minutes, all right?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he backed from the room as Tessie followed Maria to the cupboard. Purposefully intent on muffling his footsteps, he approached the bedroom where Emmaline had retreated so abruptly.

  The handle turned silently beneath his big hand, and he stepped through the doorway, his eyes seeking her slim figure within the room. The white curtains filtered the sunlight and its brightness was dimmed as it played across the floor. But caught in the midst of that shimmering, wavering brilliance was the slender form of his wife. She was a mound of clothing, topped by fiery curls that meshed with the sunlight. Her legs were drawn up, her arms encircling them tightly, so that her head, leaning upon her knees, gave her the appearance of a child, huddled against the cold. Or a small woman, curled within herself, he thought with a flash of intuition.

  His approach was quiet, his boots silenced by the rug, and he squatted beside her, his hands dangling between his knees.

  One large, callused palm lifted slowly and hovered over the back of her neck, where tangled curls were damp from the heat. She’d pulled them up, gathering them into her fist before she wrapped a piece of yarn about the upswept length and then left them to dangle in a mass of glorious confusion down her back. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that profusion of glory, and he clenched his fist against the urge.

  She stirred, and her breath caught in a series of small sobs before she inhaled deeply, as if to stem the betraying sounds. Aware of the form hunkered beside her, she silently cursed the tears that stained her hot cheeks, not willing to allow her weakness to be so apparent to the man who waited silently next to her. That she should be so vulnerable to him was hard enough to cope with, without the knowledge he had captured her heart so quickly, so easily, and with such little effort.

  All he’d had to do was be there, she recognized. All he’d had to do was be himself, that ever-vigilant, ever-protective, ever-aware husband she’d married and accepted into her secret self. For weeks, he’d woven his web about her, and she’d been too caught up in circumstances to recognize the strands of caring he’d secured her with.

  If this is what it feels like to love a man, then I don’t care for it, one little bit, she decided. Her head lifted, and she brushed at her eyes with the back of one hand, then swiped the dampness across the layers of fabric that made up her skirt.

  “What do you want?” she asked in a muffled voice, not willing to face him with the evidence of her weakness still visible.

  His palm possessed the fragile bones of her neck, where her nape was bent and the tender skin beckoned his touch. One knee dropped to the floor, and he leaned closer, allowing the other hand to curl about her face, turning it gently toward himself. His long, tanned fingers were cool against the hot flesh and the dampness that remained.

  “What is it, Em? Did I make you angry when I teased you?” He waited as she stiffened, her eyes closing so that she didn’t have to meet his gaze.

  “No.” The one word was abrupt, and her lips tightened, as if they held a multitude of syllables captive within their plush grip.

  “Emmaline.” It was a demand, as though he were tired of a guessing game he could not win, and his fingers tightened on the flesh of her cheek. “Will you look at me?” he asked, and again his voice made a command of the words.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and the tears she had fought to contain within them beaded her lashes as she blinked once to clear the mist that clung. “I’m not a child, Matt. I don’t get angry when you tease me. I might not appreciate it, but I don’t take to pouting.”

  She focused on the perplexed look that furrowed his brow and pursed his lips as he watched her. Her eyes narrowed, for she was aware of the heartache in store for her if he recognized her foolishness. That Matt was more than willing to accept the responsibility of her as a wife was a certainty. That he was more than eager to seek the softness of her embrace during the long hours of the night was obvious. That he would welcome the words that her tender heart yearned to spill into his hearing was dubious, to be sure.

  This marriage had been entered into for reasons that didn’t include passionate promises and whispers of everlasting love. Matt seemed satisfied with the bargain he’d made. Emmaline had no intention of being any more open to hurt now than she’d been in the past.

  For too long she’d waited, allowing those about her to deny her the love she craved. First her father had allowed her to be taken from him. He’d stood there and watched her leave and not lifted a hand to halt the process. The aching need for those big arms that had held her with such tender caring had never eased, she realized. She’d carried that same need all the way to the Kentucky horse farm where it had lain unquenched within the very depths of her heart for all of her growing-up years.

  Only Delilah had given her the tender warmth of loving arms, and even that had become a memory since she’d become a grown girl, too big to be comforted by her nanny. Certainly the stern upbringing she received at the hands of her grandmother had not answered the cry of her heart. The memory of her sickly, often bedfast, mother was but a hazy recollection, she realized. The weak woman who had hated the Arizona sunshine had fared no better in the humid summers of Kentucky. Emmaline had often wondered if it had not been simpler for the woman who had birthed her to just lie abed and steadily allow her lingering reserves of strength to be depleted, day after day, than to make the effort of living.

  Whatever her reasons, Theodora Carruthers had died in much the same way she lived, without a whimper of protest. In fact, the only time she’d asserted herself with any degree of firmness was the life-changing decision she’d made to leave the husband she’d grown to despise here in the everlasting sunshine.

  “I wonder why my mother married my father,” Emmaline said suddenly, blurting the words into the silence that had filled the room.

  It was not what he’d expected to hear, and Matt gazed at her, dumbstruck. “What on earth brought that up?” he asked bluntly. His eyes scanned her rosy features and settled on the pouting fullness of her mouth. And then he grinned suddenly as she allowed those lips to tilt into a smile of her own.

  A laugh that contained more than a remnant of a sob bubbled up from her depths. “I don’t know,” she admitted, a bit shyly, to be sure. Then she closed her eyes once more and shook her head. Her cheek brushed against the warmth of his big palm, and she inhaled sharply. “I tend to let my mind wander, Matt,” she said ruefully, unwilling that he know all the various tacks she had taken in her meandering.

  His sigh was verdant with the relief he felt. “Are you fixin’ to be a woman for a few days, Em?” Relief enveloped him as he seized the thought.

  Her reply cut short his sense of satisfaction and set him to puzzle-solving once more.

  “Whatever do you mean, Gerrity?” Her eyes snapped open wide, and she frowned as she considered him. Then a flush coated her skin, washing up from her throat to pinken her cheeks once more. “If you’re referring to my—” She broke off and bit at her lip. “If you mean what I think you mean...well...let me tell you, it’s none of your business,” she blurted out.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m referrin’ to what you think I am,” he answered dryly, drawling out the words. “And it is my business, Mrs. Gerrity. Especially when it makes you all weepy and you start actin’ like—” He broke off and rose,
his broad hands clasping her about the middle as he got up, lifting her with him, until she hung within his grasp, her toes inches above the floor.

  Her lower lip protruded, and she glared her frustration from sparkling eyes. “Will you put me down?” The words were muttered from between her teeth. “My personal business is not up for discussion, Gerrity!”

  He brought her closer to himself, the muscles in his arms rigid and straining with the effort of holding her in midair. With their faces almost touching, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers. “I can find out myself,” he whispered.

  “How?” she blurted, and then her eyes opened wider once more. “Oh, no! Don’t you dare even think it, Gerrity. You put me down. Don’t you touch me!”

  Her feet were swinging, attempting to do damage to his legs, and he laughed delightedly as he felt the bare toes against his shins. Her arms looped about his neck then, and she caught her fingers in the length of his dark hair, tugging and pulling at his head.

  “Put me down, I said!”

  “Can’t. You’re pullin’ my hair out,” he answered, wincing at the fierceness of her grip.

  His own arms tightened, one sliding to clutch her around her middle, the other beneath her bottom, and he turned with her, carrying her to the big bed that centered the wall. Each step was accented by her words of protest, each word accompanied by another tug of her fingers in his shining hair.

  Reaching his goal, Matt lifted one leg and slid it between hers. With that knee against the bed, he lowered them both to the mattress and allowed her to be cushioned in the feather tick as he let his weight fall against her slender frame.

  “Oof!” She landed on her back and looked up to find his face against her own, his mouth twisted in a wolfish grin. “I’m really angry now,” she sputtered as she released her grip on his hair and struggled to squeeze her hands in between their bodies.

  “Well...if you’re gonna get mad, I’ll just hafta hold you here till you get glad, I reckon,” he drawled, his mouth pecking eager kisses over every inch he could cover.