The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3)

by Jean Brashear

  Pride swelled his chest and lightened his heart as he moved to join her. He looked back to see Grant trying to grab a second suitcase.

  “Say, you don’t want to make me feel like an old man, do you?”

  Grant shook his head earnestly. “No, sir.”

  “Then leave me something to carry, all right?”

  Grant’s pride salved, he struggled his way to the porch with only one bag, too big for his size but one he insisted he could handle. Quinn held the door open, letting Lorie and Grant precede him.

  Lorie swiveled her head to take in the room, marveling at the feel of the place.

  It suited him.

  Solid, substantial, just like the man. Log walls were the amber gold of his eyes, and the wide plank floors were covered in thick rugs that looked hand woven. The fireplace was big enough to roast an ox in it.

  But however massive and male the construction, he’d put windows everywhere, bringing the rustic beauty inside. When she turned, she saw a long pine table just off the kitchen. What she could see of the kitchen looked cheery and inviting.

  This place felt like home, from the second she’d entered.

  Quinn smiled, and her heart smiled in welcome.

  “Wow, this looks like a cowboy’s cabin, for sure! Where’s my room?” Grant had put down the bag and was jumping from one foot to the other.

  Quinn chuckled. “Well, how ’bout you help your mother up the stairs and I’ll follow with the bags?”

  Lorie had to laugh at the ruse. She bent to lean on Grant’s shoulder. “Yes, Grant, come on. I might not make it up those big old stairs.”

  Grant giggled and stood patiently as she took the first step very slowly, then the second, but his impatience overcame him. “Oh, Mom, you know you could race me if you wanted.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him and ran past him, to the sound of his squealing laughter. At the top she turned, seeing pure joy shining on Quinn’s face. She regretted, not for the first time, all the trouble that knowing her had brought him.

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t look back. You deserve to enjoy this.”

  Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she nodded. “I’ll try.”

  “It’s actually chilly at night here,” Lorie marveled a few hours later. “Imagine having a fire in the summer!”

  He grinned. “I don’t always build one, but I didn’t want you to be cold. Grant seemed to like it before he conked out.”

  “He did, thanks. It’s a real treat.” She rolled her neck, then leaned back against the sofa and sighed. “Grant’s had an exciting day. That was nice of you to let him ride Wind Dancer with you. What a beautiful horse.”

  “We’ll have more time tomorrow. I’ll take him for a longer ride and let him explore.” He watched her working the kinks out of her neck. “Here—let me see if I can help you get rid of those knots.” He walked around the couch to stand behind her. “Take a couple of slow, deep breaths.” As she complied, he lifted her shoulders gently and rotated them.

  Her head fell forward as he used his thumbs to smooth the muscles of her neck with long, slow strokes. He massaged her shoulders and back, pressing as deeply as he could until he felt resistance, urging the muscles to loosen.

  “Umm, that feels good,” she sighed.

  Quinn tried to ignore the tightening of his groin at the sound of her surrendering sigh. “Come here and stretch out on your stomach.” He spread out a huge, body-sized pillow on the floor closer to the fire.

  As she complied, he knelt and removed her shoes and socks. She giggled. “Ticklish?”

  Her voice muffled by the pillow, she protested, “No,” but he could hear the mischief in her tone.

  “Just relax. This won’t tickle if you don’t tense up.”

  She giggled nervously one more time, but soon, his rhythmic strokes as he kneaded the soles of her foot had her relaxing and sighing again. He moved to the other foot and gave it a similar slow, easing treatment.

  Every sigh, every moan of contentment was both blessing and curse. He resolved not to break his promise to himself.

  The time wasn’t right.

  Yet.

  Her clothing was in the way, but Quinn wasn’t complaining. It also stopped him from caving in to the gut-twisting desire he couldn’t totally block out.

  She’d changed into leggings and a loose sweater before supper, so the massage could still work with her clothed, thank goodness. He began to work his way up her calves, slipping his hands over the smooth curves, feeling her tense as he stroked upward.

  “Relax, Lorie. It’s just a massage. Nothing else will happen.” Remember that yourself, Quinn.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No apology needed. You’ve had plenty of reason not to want to be touched.” His throat thickened. “But I’ll never hurt you.”

  She raised herself enough to twist back for a look. The soft blue velvet held a faint shimmer of moisture. “I know that, Quinn. I swear I do.”

  He smiled when he wanted to curse. With effort he tapped her leg lightly. “All right, then—lie down and relax.”

  She saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.” She laid her head back down, squirming a little to settle.

  Quinn swallowed a groan at the sight of her luscious behind wiggling. He closed his eyes until he could feel her settle.

  Then, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to concentrate on peace and calm thoughts, his hands resumed their soothing. Sometimes more forcefully, sometimes feathery stroking, he worked his way up the backs of her legs, feeling her easing into deeper relaxation.

  He skipped her glutes, not wanting to tempt himself beyond bearing. His fingers itched to sink into the firm globes, but he reined himself in and slid his hands quickly to her lower back muscles. He could feel the kinks and knots all through her back, testament to the strain she’d been under. She was going to get a good night’s sleep tonight, come hell or high water.

  He wouldn’t dwell upon how much he’d prefer to use another method to relax them both.

  As he smoothed the long muscles and worked again on her neck and shoulders, she slipped deeper into lassitude. He worked on the backs of her arms, concentrating on the nerve endings where arm and shoulder meet. He started to ask her to turn over, but the regularity of her breathing told him she was almost asleep. He lifted her in his arms and turned her himself.

  Her eyelids barely fluttered, but for one sleepy second, she saw him and gave him a smile of blinding beauty.

  A smile of utter trust. He shook his head, wondering why his damned sense of honor got him into such scrapes.

  He mentally sighed. He could survive the second half of this massage, surely.

  Surely.

  He picked up one hand and began to smooth and knead, one finger at a time. He had to prop her wrist on his thigh so he could use both hands. She was so relaxed, her hand kept falling away.

  He paid special attention to the area at the base of the thumb. Most people didn’t realize how much tension centered there. When he’d finished kneading the muscles and joints, he used a light, feathering touch over her whole body.

  Which elicited another breathy sigh from her.

  Quinn closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Every sigh, every whisper ran straight through his nerve endings. Here, before the fire, in a place he loved like no other…

  He was too open to her.

  As he struggled to ease himself back down into relaxation, he concentrated on the other hand. He admired the graceful arch of her fingers, the smooth transition to her delicate wrists. He worked his way up her arm muscles, then lightly stroked her neck.

  When her nipples peaked in response to his stroking, he paused and tried to swallow. Suddenly feeling her gaze upon him, he looked up to see blue flame singe into his soul. Transfixed, he left his hands where they’d stopped below her collarbone.

  She arched her back, bringing her breasts closer when his hands slid down along the outside curves.

  He burned to caress he
r.

  Slowly, he lowered his forehead and rested it gently, nestled in the cradle of her bosom. He pressed his hands to her sides, trembling with the need that threatened to destroy his will.

  He’d never wanted a woman so badly in all his days. And not just a woman.

  This woman.

  He forced himself to stillness. Bit by bit, through sheer determination, he calmed his racing heart. He felt the gentle touch of her hands on his hair, stroking and soothing. She slid her fingers through and lightly grazed them along his scalp, kneading and caressing.

  Sending jolts straight to his groin.

  He raised his head quickly, sat back on his heels and trapped her hands between his own. “Don’t, honey. I can’t take much more temptation.”

  She stared at him solemnly. “You don’t have to resist.”

  “Oh, yes,” he vowed. “I do.”

  Hurt crept into her expression.

  “If we made love now, it could be because you felt obligated or grateful or…confused.”

  He gazed intently at her now. “If we make love, I want it to be because you’re ready. Because you want me. Because you can give yourself to me and let me give myself to you, free of shadows. No duty. No obligation. No confusion.” He gripped her hands in his. “When you let me inside you, I don’t want to wonder what demons you’re trying to hide from. I want you to know that it’s me within you. Because I’ll sure as hell know it’s you.”

  She swallowed visibly, and the tears began to flow, sliding back into her hair. He bent to her, catching her tears in his hands.

  “Quinn…” Anguish filled her voice. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”

  “Sh-h, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” He gathered her up in his arms and carried her toward the staircase. As they ascended, she placed her left hand over his heart and burrowed a little deeper into his shoulder.

  “We’ll be all right, Lorie. You’ve had a lot of tough days, one after the other. It’s time for you to rest. Just lay down your burdens for this one night.” He tugged back the covers and laid her on the sheets. He looked around for a nightgown and spotted it on the end of the bed. Tenderly, as he would a child, steeling himself not to think of the womanly curves beneath, he helped her undress and change.

  Then he tucked the covers around her and sat down on the bed, stroking her face and hair until she closed her eyes and relaxed. When he started to get up, she called out his name, reaching for his hand. “Would you…would it be too much to ask you to stay with me for awhile? I’m sorry—I know it’s not fair.”

  He grinned, the fires successfully banked for the moment. “No, it’s not fair…but I’d like that.” He pulled off his boots and climbed on the bed as she rolled to her left side. Nestled like spoons, one under the covers and one outside, Quinn watched over Lorie until she slept deeply.

  Then he tip-toed downstairs and walked out onto the porch to stare off into the moonlight and dream…alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lorie awoke to birds singing outside her window, the air crisp and sweet, a rich coffee aroma drifting up the stairs. She started to rise but caught a scent of Quinn on the pillow next to her and snuggled back down, tugging the pillow closer. She could see his imprint in the covers beside her, and her thoughts drifted to firelight and the night just passed. To warm, strong hands kneading…caressing… stroking. To the safety she’d felt, lying in his arms.

  To desire, which he awakened so strongly within her.

  She smiled to herself in the cozy, comfortable room. Oh, there was no if about it. They would make love.

  And she was absolutely certain it would be worth the wait. His hands… She shivered, remembering watching them in Josh’s loft as the brothers played basketball, Quinn’s muscles gleaming with sweat.

  She burned for him.

  For the first time since Tom’s death, Lorie felt released from sorrow. Her husband was a memory she’d cherish and an important part of her life, but she finally felt able to say goodbye, to look ahead instead of behind.

  Ahead. Questions about her future loomed.

  She wouldn’t think about New York, not right now.

  Don’t look back, Quinn had said. She’d try very hard.

  But for now, she’d go see what was out there on this beautiful late summer morning. Since she’d showered before dinner last night, she made short work of getting ready, brushing her teeth, slipping on jeans and a sweater and running a brush through her hair. She walked down the hall to peek in on Grant, but her sleepyhead son still slumbered on.

  She skipped down the stairs, lighthearted, looking around to find Quinn, but he was nowhere in sight. She poured herself a mug of the coffee he’d left warming and stepped out onto the porch to take in the view. She chose a big chair near the edge and curled up to enjoy the show.

  She thought she heard horses nicker and wondered if she could claim her own ride with Quinn.

  She heard so many different bird sounds, and she had no idea which one went with what bird.

  Then she caught an odd, almost buzzing noise to her right, and she stared, wondering if it held danger.

  “It’s a hummingbird, see?”

  She jumped at Quinn’s voice.

  “Look at the red flowers on the vine—there on the lattice, up near the roof. See it? They drink from the flowers.”

  Entranced, she stared. How could the little bird’s wings beat so fast? She didn’t realize she’d asked it out loud until he answered.

  “They feed constantly, and now you see why. They use up a lot of energy, just zipping around.”

  “It has a red throat,” she marveled. When she turned to make sure Quinn saw it, the sight of his smile stole her every last thought.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He fit here. This was his domain. In New York, he’d been an arresting sight, but here, on his home ground, he carved a legendary figure, formed from the earth on which he stood. With his straw cowboy hat, his chambray shirt softened from age stretching over broad shoulders, the jeans that clung to his long, muscular legs, down to the boots on his feet, he was a dream cowboy come to life.

  Super Cowboy indeed. Her throat went dry.

  He tipped back his hat and removed his leather gloves, tucking them in his back pocket as he neared. He stepped up on the porch and leaned against a post, gazing down at her with a look that curled deep within her.

  “Sleep well?” His voice was husky.

  “Very well.” She dipped her gaze to her coffee. “Um, Quinn?” She looked back up, determined not to be a coward. “Thank you for…everything last night.” She wished that her fair skin covered a blush, instead of emphasizing it.

  “Um, Lorie?”

  She couldn’t help but grin at his teasing tone.

  “My pleasure.” Topaz melted to butterscotch.

  Then he cleared his throat. “I, uh, think I’ll go get some coffee. Want a refill?”

  “No—no, thank you.”

  He pushed away from the post. “I’ll be right back.”

  Her stomach was doing flip-flops. She leaned back and sipped her coffee, suddenly not nearly so calm.

  Oh, yes. Definitely dreamy.

  She gazed across the pasture and spotted a mare and her foal. The baby danced around his mother, giving little kicks in the air with his hind legs and butting against the mare. Lorie smiled, thinking of Grant’s buoyant enthusiasm.

  Little boys of other species had some traits in common, it seemed.

  She settled back in the chair, remembering Quinn’s great-aunt and the way she and Grant had taken to one another. She looked forward to knowing this woman better. They were from two very different worlds, but she’d never felt such an immediate bond with anyone.

  Except Quinn.

  The subject of her thoughts dropped down next to her and set his coffee mug on the broad arm of his chair. He reached over and took her hand in his. Seeming to understand the mood of this morning, he remained silent, watching the sunrise across the
canyon rim on the opposite side, rubbing his thumb across the palm of her hand.

  It was perfect and peaceful, the most tranquil morning she’d ever experienced. And when Consuela materialized on the road from her little house, somehow Lorie was not surprised.

  Quinn rose to greet her, stepping down to assist her. Lorie rose as well.

  “Buenas días, Tía.”

  “Buenas días, híjito de mi corazon,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek. Turning, she said, “Good morning, Lorie. Did you sleep well in our crisp air these last two nights?”

  Lorie stared. “Two nights?” She glanced up at Quinn.

  “You slept around the clock.” There was no disproval in his tone. “You were exhausted.”

  “But, Grant…?”

  “Was fine,” he answered. “He helped me out in the barn, and we went for a long ride. When I had to drive into town, he went with me.”

  Lorie was stricken. “How could I have slept through and forgotten him?”

  “You didn’t forget him. You woke up a couple of times and asked about him first thing. Once I told you he was fine, you fell back asleep. You even managed to talk to him a minute before he went to bed last night.”

  She tried to take it all in. “I don’t remember any of it.”

  Consuela touched her hand. “Grant has been fine. I enjoyed my time with him very much, too. Now, how about my question? Did you have any trouble getting to sleep initially?”

  Lorie tried to stop her cheeks from flaming as she answered, “Not really.” Quinn grinned broadly from behind his aunt, and she wanted to stick out her tongue. “Would you care to sit with us?”

  “Thank you,” Consuela said, handing Lorie a package wrapped in muslin and tied with a ribbon. “This is for you. It is a tea whose effect is calming. Chamomile is one of the ingredients. I would suggest that you add honey. I have mixed some additional ingredients to cover the bitter taste of chamomile alone. If you would like to visit my garden later, I will show you how the plant grows.”

  Lorie took it and opened the ribbon, sniffing to see if she’d ever had some. “Thank you very much. I’d be honored if you have time to show me your garden.”