He untied the reins from the hitching rail in front of the dry goods store and stalked to the other side of the buggy, leaning in to speak to her. “Is this everything you bought?” he asked, nodding to the boxes he’d lashed to the rear.
“If you brought out two crates of groceries, you got it all,” she snapped, her chin jutting angrily as she looked straight ahead.
“Then I got it all,” he muttered, climbing up to sit beside her. He picked up the reins and slapped them easily on the broad back of the mare. Obediently she headed down the road, and at a second reminder broke into a trot.
“I saw Deborah inside the dry goods. Did you talk to her?” he asked.
“We spoke.” Her words were muffled as she leaned to rearrange the packages she’d placed about her feet.
“What’s in there?” he asked, his head nodding at the bundles.
“Some things for Theresa. She’s grown a lot since anyone made her something to wear to bed. Her nightgowns are all too short. On top of that, she needs a new Sunday dress. I bought her a pair of patent-leather slippers to go with it,” she said defensively.
“Well, we’ll be stickin’ pretty close to home, Emmaline, till things get settled down,” he told her. “Tessie won’t be needin’ Sunday-mornin’ clothes for a while.”
“Surely you won’t be keeping us from church, just because some idiot tried to...”
“That idiot could have hauled you away over his saddle without a whimper, if you hadn’t sunk your teeth into him,” he reminded her darkly.
“I refuse to let some outlaw make me a prisoner in my own home,” she announced, her cheeks pink with anger.
“Aw, come on, Em.” He smiled, attempting to coax her out of her temper. “We don’t need to fight over this. I take it back. I won’t keep you from goin’ to church with Tessie. I’ll just have to get you there myself from now on.”
“You’re going to church?” Arched eyebrows signaled her amazement.
“Yeah. I’m not a heathen, you know,” he answered sharply.
“Well, if that isn’t something of a miracle,” she mused, her eyes glittering with amusement.
“You’re not mad anymore?” He risked a glance in her direction.
“I wasn’t mad to start with,” she lied. “Just a little aggravated with you and your high-handed methods.”
“Now what the hell does that mean?”
She pursed her mouth and attended his stony profile. “Just look at you! All up in the air and cursing up a storm. You seem to think that being my husband gives you the right to tell me what to do every day of the week.”
She waited for the retort she was certain he couldn’t resist tossing in her direction, but was greeted instead with silence.
His refusal to participate spurred her on. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re getting upset over absolutely nothing? All I did was walk out of the store and put my packages in the buggy and wait there for you. You’d think I’d been looking for trouble, the way you act.”
It was enough. He rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“Honestly, Emmaline, you sure do take the cake for pure ignorance this morning. There’s a man out there somewhere who has every intention in the world of hurting you. Honey, he’s already shot at you and tried to run off with you. Not to mention havin’ you bucked off your horse. Just how much more does he need to do to get your attention?” He turned to glare at her, his worry forming frown lines that ridged his forehead beneath the brim of his hat.
“Well, I just don’t think that ten o’clock in the morning, in the middle of town, is any time to be fretting about some outlaw giving me trouble. Besides, I was thinking that maybe the man who tried to grab me was just letting a prank get out of hand. Don’t they do shivarees out here? You know, where the bride gets carried off for an hour or so?” She looked up at him, almost pleadingly, as if his reassurance would make everything right to her mind.
“Shivaree is one thing, Em. Kidnapping is a whole different mess of fish altogether. They don’t even compare,” he muttered beneath his breath. “You need to understand, honey—until we find out what’s goin’ on, you’re gonna have to be careful.”
“Well, I really can’t see that there’s any danger in broad daylight,” she said with a sniff of defiance.
He glanced at her, and his eyes lingered on her mouth. Her lips firmly pressed together. His heart was touched by the woebegone look that painted her features, taking every trace of joy from her expression.
One long arm snaked about her waist, and with an easy movement he tugged her closer, lifting her until she was pressed against his side. “Take off your bonnet, Emmaline.”
“Whatever for?” she wanted to know, amazed at his order.
“Do you have to argue over everything I tell you? Just do what I asked, will you?”
Her sigh was deep, but her fingers moved to untie the bow that had been fashioned beneath her chin. With a flourish, she swept the straw bonnet from her head and deposited it under her seat.
“There! Now are you happy?” she asked with another wave of her hand.
“Well, it sure makes it a lot easier to kiss you and nuzzle your ear, without all those flowers bobbin’ in my face and that straw scratchin’ my nose.”
“You wanted to kiss me?” Her look was unbelieving as she turned to face him.
“Sure did,” he said agreeably, and bent to do just that.
And then, as if it were for the first time, he tasted the freshness of her mouth, the soft, plush cushion of her lips and the fragile warmth just inside. His intent had been to take her mind from the cares of the day, to tighten the bonds between them, to revel for just a moment in the delight of her nearness. But so easily, her scent and the sweet savoring of her mouth beguiled him, and he was caught up in the kiss that had begun so innocently.
“Ah, Emmie, you taste so good,” he muttered against her cheek. He drew in a breath and delivered a line of damp little pecks down the side of her throat, tilting her head with a nudge of his cheek, the better to find the pulse beat he sought. “Somethin’ down here sure smells good,” he whispered against her flesh.
“Ummm...probably the soap I washed with.” She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his mouth against her skin.
“Uh-uh. I don’t think so, honey. It just seems like pure Emmaline to me. You smell just about like this all over, you know,” he told her in a rough whisper.
“I do?” She laughed beneath her breath as he touched her throat with the tip of his tongue. “That tickles. You’re making me have chill-bumps, Matt!”
His teeth drew in a bite of flesh, and he held it captive for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he relinquished his prize and puckered his mouth against the pinked spot with a loud, wet smack.
“Damn, you sure know how to hurt a guy, Em.” He groaned, straightening in his seat and abandoning the project he’d undertaken with such enthusiasm. Sitting erect, he tilted his hat back with a nonchalant gesture, but his eyes were alert, casting a guarded look at their surroundings as he slapped the reins against the horse’s hindquarters once more.
Emmaline watched his movements, attuned to his mood. Then, with a great to-do, she straightened her blouse, tugging at the gathered neckline and brushing at her hair distractedly. Casting another glance at him and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she considered his watchful stance.
“You’re really worried, aren’t you, Matt?”
He glanced at her. “Just give me a while to figure this out, okay Em? It’ll all work out, I promise. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Slipping her hand inside the bend of his elbow, she squeezed the hard muscle of his arm. “Well, I’m not about to get into a dither over things. I know you’ll take care of me. And I promise to be careful. I mean it. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“You know what? I’ve been thinkin’, honey.” Intent on changing the subject, he patted her hand and grinned in her direction. “You know what I told you the other night...about
the letters your pa kept for you?”
Her eyes lit with delight as she rounded on him, twisting in the buggy seat to face him. “You know where he put them?” she asked eagerly.
His snort was answer enough. “Of course I do. I know where just about everything in that house is located. They’re in a locked box in his desk.”
“Well, why didn’t you give them to me, then?” she wanted to know.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess I thought when the right time came, I’d know enough to get them out and let you have them.”
Emmaline closed her eyes as a sense of satisfaction flooded her. I told you so, Grandmother, she whispered within herself. I knew Matt was right. I knew it! She settled herself tightly against his hip, facing the front of the buggy once more as she edged her hand atop his thigh, her fingers spread to tighten against the hard muscle. Her breast pressed against his arm as she nestled her shoulder against his side, and he took the hint, raising his arm to wrap it about her slender back. His big hand rested at her waist, cradling her ribs, with the softness of her breast teasing the backs of his fingers.
“When we get home, okay, Em?”
Her answer was a few seconds in coming. She drew in a breath, as if a momentous decision were in the making, and then nodded, the movement brushing wayward curls against his cheek as he bent closer to hear her reply.
“Yes, when we get home.”
“So be it,” he whispered. “When we get home.”
* * *
The big chair cradled her body, holding her within its plush leather depths. In her lap, the letters were heavy, resting against her thighs with a strange warmth. Almost as if he were here, as if his own body were beneath hers in the chair, Emmaline felt her father’s presence. Her fingers pressed against the topmost envelope and slid it from place, opening it with care. Her eyes filled with tears as she read the first words, and she blinked furiously, the better to see the strong script.
My dear daughter,
I pray your mama will read this to you. It is my hope that you will remember that your papa loves you and misses you every day. I send you hugs and kisses.
Your loving papa
She folded the short note with trembling fingers and placed it in the yellowed envelope. For twenty long years it had lain atop the stack, tied with a leather thong, though probably the thong had been wrapped about the pile much later, she realized.
The second envelope was a little heavier, and she opened it carefully, as if to tear it might be a desecration to the man who had sealed it, posted it and then accepted its return with heart-rending regret.
My dear daughter,
The horses have gone to the high country for the heat of the summer. I sent along your pony, since no one here will ride it. She will be waiting for you when you return. Maria sends her love and prays every day in your behalf. I hope you are enjoying your visit with your grandparents.
Your papa loves you.
He thought I was coming back! Why would he think that? she wondered. Did Mama lie to him when she left? Surely he must have known the leave-taking was final.
But apparently not.
Her eyes awash with tears, she fumbled with the envelope, carefully refolding the note to place it within. And then she discovered that a picture remained inside: a hand-drawn sketch of a pony, dappled with darker tones and adorned with darker mane and tail. Colored with wax crayons, it was surprisingly lifelike. And obviously a futile attempt to provide his child with a memento of her pony.
How he must have felt! she thought with a heavy heart. To know that he was forbidden to correspond with his daughter. That cruel and unknown hands kept his messages from the child he loved so well.
Her eyes wept copious tears as her fingers wrapped about the stack of letters, holding them closely against her breast...as if the love contained in those sheets of foolscap could somehow be transmitted to the child now grown.
“Oh, Papa,” she whispered mournfully, her head bent as hot tears fell, to be soaked up by the voluminous skirt she wore.
“Emmaline.” The soft whisper penetrated her despair, and she lifted her face to where Matt stood, just inside the door of his office.
“Ah, Emmie, your pa wouldn’t want you to cry over those letters,” he said tenderly. “He’d want you to read them and be happy.”
Her head shook, slowly and mournfully. “It’s so sad, Matt. Why didn’t someone tell me he loved me?”
He strode across the room and knelt next to the leather chair that almost enveloped her in its depths. His broad palm tenderly cradled her cheek, and she allowed the weight of her head to rest against his greater strength. Her eyes were closed, and the tears had ceased to flow. Only a hiccuping sob escaped once, and then again, before she sniffed and stirred to search out her handkerchief.
He was there before her, loosening the red bandanna that was tied about his neck, easing it into her groping fingers and releasing his own hold as she blew her nose and wiped at the tears that trembled on her cheeks.
Her eyes opened, and she smiled at the sight of the red cloth she held. “I’ll wash it out for you,” she offered shyly, as if sharing his neckerchief was a very personal thing to be doing.
He shrugged and smiled his relief. “I’ve got lots where that one came from. Looked to me like you had enough tears and dribbles there to fill three of those little bits of hankies you carry around in your pocket.” He shifted his weight to the other leg and leaned closer, tugging her head to rest against his shoulder.
“Maybe you better plan on keepin’ a bunch of my bandannas right here on the desk while you finish readin’ that pile of mail.”
Her smile widened, and she nestled into the bend of his shoulder, her lips searching for the tender flesh beneath his jaw. Her whisper was warm against him, and he closed his eyes, to better savor the pleasure of her touch.
“I’ll be all right now,” she assured him softly. Fumbling with the stack of letters that had fallen into her lap, she drew forth the second one in the pile.
“Look, Matt. This was my pony.... I think her name was Ranger.” She pulled out the crayon drawing and unfolded it with gentle hands, smoothing it carefully as she presented it for his inspection.
“Yeah, old Sam was some hand at drawing,” Matt said. “That’s a good likeness, you know. That pony only died about four years ago.”
“Really? If I’d come back sooner, I might have seen him again?” The thought brought forth a trickle from the well of bitterness she’d carefully contained for many weeks. “How can I ever forgive them?” she asked, with little hope of an answer. “That’s why they left early, you know. I had a big fuss with my grandmother, and she was terribly upset with me.”
“I kinda figured that out, honey,” he said soberly. “And as for forgivin’ them for the past, that’s somethin’ you’ll have to work out on your own, you know. If it makes you feel any better, I doubt if they realized how much harm they were doing.”
“She must have known... My mother had to know how much I needed...” But her thoughts were too hard to form into words. “I’ll come back to these later.” She straightened the stack, moving the leather thong and tucking the second letter into place.
Matt pulled open the bottom drawer and picked up the metal box that had held its secrets for many years. His fingers lifted the lid, and she deposited her treasure within, one fingertip stroking the words on the front of the topmost envelope. Miss Emmaline Joy Carruthers, he’d written in bold, slashing letters. Her mouth formed a word, but it remained unspoken, and she allowed Matt to close the lid, locking the precious papers within.
Papa...
* * *
“The grandparents have left.”
“I’ll bet you were hopin’ they’d take the city gal back home with ‘em, weren’t you?” His words were amused as he viewed the woman from beneath his heavy eyebrows. “It sure woulda saved me a whole lot of trouble.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she answered briskly. “I
t’ll take more than a visit from two old fogies to get her out of my way. She knows when she has a good thing, married to Matt Gerrity and owning half the ranch.”
“Which do you want more? The ranch or Matt Gerrity?” The man approached her, his lips curved in a smile that bore no humor. “It’s sorta up to me whether you get either one, isn’t it, lady?” His voice was husky, his eyes dark with intent as they swept the length of the woman who leaned with indolent ease against the tree. One hand lifted, and grimy fingers brushed against her cheek. “I’m sure lookin’ forward to tastin’ this nice soft—”
She turned her face abruptly and his hand fell to his side. “Keep your hands to yourself,” she told him, concealing her aversion beneath lowered eyelids. Her chin lifted in a haughty gesture. “You’ll get your money after you keep your end of the bargain.”
“Not only money,” he reminded her, reaching to toy with the fastening on her cloak, grinning as he sensed her reluctance.
She looked at him impatiently and brushed at the fingers that sullied her garment. “Just do it.” She moved away from his touch, then looked up at him.
“Just do it,” she repeated, “and then...” Her smile was a promise.
“Don’t think you’ll get away from me tonight, lady.”
Her senses reeled as she considered the threat he conveyed. “What do you expect?”
His hands drew her against him. His head was bent, his mouth inches from hers. “I could give you a good time right now, honey.”
The scent of his whisky-tinged breath filled her nostrils and she shook her head, gasping for a breath of clean air. “Not here! Not now!” Her voice was not as firm as she’d like it to be and she stiffened in his grasp. “I have to go. I’ll be missed.”
With reluctance he released her. “When? I want to get this over and done with. You’re gonna have to help out a little here. Gerrity’s watchin’ the woman like a big cat after a newborn calf.”
She nodded. “Keep a sharp eye out. I’ll do what I can.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gerrity'S Bride Page 24
