The flutter of her lips against his was faint as a whisper at first. He stroked her, hands worshiping her trim curves, and she kissed him back. A frenzied hunger whipped his need and he nipped her lips. She moaned and opened her mouth, and their tongues and lips mingled in a fiery dance.
A blast of wind buffeted them and lashed through the boughs of the white pine, spraying them with snow. They broke apart, panting, their breaths as harsh as the howling wind. Eclipse and Sweetheart bolted past them and disappeared behind a thick screen of fir trees.
“The horses!” Ella cried.
“You want me as desperately as I want you,” he said.
“What about the horses?”
Frustrated, he swept of his hat and batted it against his thigh. “You want me, Ella Haven. Don’t deny it.”
She found her braid and played with the end. Horizontal blowing snow pelted her buckskin jacket. “We should head back to your ranch.”
His ranch. He wanted to kiss her again until she was panting his name. Wrestling to regain his patience, he glanced at the ominous clouds settling in overhead. “Looks like we might be in for another blizzard. We best set up camp for the night.”
“Here?”
“It won’t be the first time I’ve waited out a storm in the shelter of a pine grove.”
“Levi and Ace almost died in the last blizzard,” Ella said, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Levi and Ace ought to have hunkered down, instead of pushing on. If this was the open plain, I’d be more concerned. But—”
“Aren’t you even going to try to find Sweetheart and Eclipse? How will they survive the blizzard?”
The storm was the perfect excuse to spend the night alone with her. A ranch house full of brothers and homeless boys was less than ideal for wooing a woman. But first he had to assure her they were safer staying here. “You don’t have to worry about Sweetheart and Eclipse; horses and longhorns are hardier than people. We’d be soaked to the bone by the time we tromped a mile through the snow searching for them. After that, it’s a five-mile ride back to the ranch. The best thing to do is to build a dry shelter.”
She curled and uncurled the tail of braid around her thumb, but he doubted her hesitation had anything to do with the storm. And she had good reason to worry, as he would do all in his power to make her his true wife before morning.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Enveloped in the soothing scent of fresh-cut pine and sitting on a thick bed of boughs, Ella couldn’t help but be impressed by the shelter Ty had constructed at the base of a white pine. In no time at all he had chosen a tree protected from the wind, carved out a cocoon amid the low-lying branches, and cut a bundle of boughs from nearby trees that they used to line and cover the burrow, forming a remarkably sturdy sanctuary.
The howling blizzard and stinging cold wasn’t the danger making her skin prickle.
Movements competent and confident, Ty placed the last fanned branch into position and sat back beside her. In the dim light the long, fine pine needles appeared more gray than green. The constant whistle of the wind made the silence between them more noticeable.
He nudged her knee with his. “The cold will drive us to share our body heat. What are you going to say if I ask to kiss you?”
As aware of his wide, rugged shoulders and warm, firm mouth as she was of her next breath, she stared into his calm, brown eyes. The temptation she’d been trying to flee had finally caught up to her. You want me…don’t deny it, he had said. He knew as well as she did where tonight was heading. “I want to lie with you, but—”
“Are you afraid?”
A few short weeks ago she would have been intimidated at the thought of being trapped alone with a roughneck cowboy, never mind making love. But she trusted Ty to be gentle and caring with her. “Not of you.”
His jaw muscle pulsed. “This doesn’t have to happen.”
He could easily overpower her and force the issue. She almost wished he would. He’s a Yankee devil, her conscience screamed. She covered her ears and dropped her head onto her drawn-up knees. “Do we have to talk?”
“Ella, honey, come here.” He lifted her onto his lap and stroked her back. “We’re both tired and hungry.”
The endearment deepened her misery. She felt as though she was being torn apart. Wanting Ty made her a traitor to Johnny and Granny Bessie and her father and mother. As to the question of whether or not Ty killed Johnny—she had to believe, if Ty was responsible, he’d had good reason for doing so. He’d proved over and over he was a good, decent man. He wasn’t like Boone; he wasn’t a killer.
Ty caressed her back. “Ella, I can see you’re hurting. Tell me how to help you.”
Talking wouldn’t help, wouldn’t change anything. She skimmed her mouth over the rough stubble of his chin. “Kiss me until I can’t think of anything but you.”
“Are you sure?”
Stubborn, sweet man that he was, there was only one way to deal with him. She straddled his lap, kissed him fiercely, and sat back breathless. “Storm, or not, I want you. I want this. I know what I’m doing.” She’d never forgive herself for setting aside her principles, but it was a price she was willing to pay to spend the night in Ty’s arms.
He stared at her for a long moment, then wordlessly removed his hat, set it carefully aside, and did the same with her hat. Capturing her braid, he unlaced her hair. “I want to see your hair unbound and flowing over your shoulders when we make love.”
She swallowed. “Do you take your time about everything?”
He laid her back on the pine boughs and trailed his finger down her jaw. His sandy-blond hair slid over his dark perfect eyebrows. “‘Thorough’ has a better ring to it, don’t you think?”
Heat spiraled through her. “Thorough?”
His mouth brushed her ear, his soft laugh curled down her spine. “I was undone from the first moment I saw you, Ella Haven. I staked my claim on you then. Swore I’d win your heart.”
The declaration whisked her over a thrilling, deadly precipice. Was this what it was like to fall in love? No. She couldn’t be falling in love with Ty. Tonight was a matter of quenching mutual desires. That’s all she’d allow it to be about. That’s all it could be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ella startled awake. The raw bite of the cold on her face and the strong pine scent reminded her where she was. The delicious ache at her center reminded her of the night’s worth of passion and pleasure. She sought Ty’s warmth, regretful the brutal cold required them to remain fully clothed.
He gathered her close. “Good morning, Wife.”
Her pulse sped, obliterating the morning stillness. She jerked free and sat up. “The blizzard is over.”
Sleepy-eyed and with his blond hair sticking up on end, he yawned and clasped her hand. “You okay?”
The horses whinnied outside the shelter.
She wanted to dive back under his arms, at the same time she wanted to curl up in a corner by herself. The temperature had plummeted overnight, but the cold invading her bones had nothing to do with the arctic conditions. “Aren’t you worried Eclipse and Sweetheart will run off again?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Flustered, she tugged her hand free, drew her hair forward, and worked to tame the mass of thick locks into a tidy braid. “Don’t say things like that.”
The boughs rustled and Ty moved to a sitting position behind her. “I’d like to do up your braid.”
“I don’t need help.”
“I know, but I’m your husband and it would please me.”
She couldn’t deny him, not after he’d been so generous with her, ministering to her with his hands, lips, and mouth. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Tie it tight.”
His fingers dug through her hair, untangling the laced tendrils. “I’ll do it up right. Not like a lasso, where the knot stays loose until the steer pulls against it.”
“A
re you comparing me to a cow?”
He wouldn’t be distracted. “We crossed a threshold, you know that, don’t you?”
Blast his cowboy doggedness. “Nothing has changed.”
His hands stilled. “This braid is coming out fine. I’m good with a rope.” He returned to braiding her hair. “Once I set my eyes on a horse or steer I always catch them.” I staked a claim on you, he’d told her.
She pushed his hands away and looped the last pieces of hair in place. She needed time to breathe and think. “If I had my gun I’d shoot you full of holes.”
Ty frowned. “What gun?”
She cringed and covered her face. In the light of day, without desire addling her brain, her betrayal of Granny, Johnny, Daddy and Momma shamed her. “My Granny’s gun,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed.
Ty’s arms came around her. “You’re freezing cold. Let’s get you home.”
She buried her head in his wide chest. Home? Sweet Creek Ranch was his home, not hers. The war had taken everything from her. She was afraid to know the truth about Ty, but needed to know if he was the man who had killed Johnny more than ever.
She stared into Ty’s concerned eyes. “I need to tell you the real reason I answered your advertisement and came to Wyoming Territory.”
The rugged lines of his face tightened. “You best wait. It’s too cold for talk. We need a hearty meal and a hot fire.”
Dreading the conversation more than death, she nodded.
***
Ty emerged from the man-made cave. The bitter cold hit like the slash of a whip. The new day brought crystal blue skies shining over a razor-sharp carpet of snow. Eclipse and Sweetheart nickered and tossed their heads in greeting.
“Looking for your morning oats, are you?” he said, the freezing air sucking at his breath. Not two minutes ago, he’d have said the horses deserved a barn-full of the best feed for running off and stranding him here with Ella.
He helped Ella out of the shelter. She blinked against the blinding sun. Her pale face stood out in sharp contrast to her raven-black hair and rosy-red lips.
She’d appeared fragile, like she was ready to break in two. Though petite and delicate of stature, she was a strong, vivacious woman, who had been responsive to his every touch. She was the one who instigated their last joining during the wee hours of the night, her fervor and hunger making him want to cry for joy. The secret she held must be dreadful to have shaken her so profoundly. He experienced the same kick to the gut he’d felt when she said she needed to tell him the true reason she’d answered his advertisement and come to Wyoming Territory.
A frigid blast of wind whipped up a thin layer of fresh snow, hurling icy pellets at them. He captured the horse’s reins, rifled through his saddlebag, and found the burlap-wrapped bundle of dried jerky.
The satchel. Holy crud, her standoffish behavior and her obsession with the satchel now made perfect sense.
Blindsided by her pronouncement that she’d come to Wyoming packing a gun, he was too shocked to be angry. What possible reason could she have for carrying a gun and concealing the fact she had it? What was she running from?
The cold threatening to turn their blood to slush, he wouldn’t push for answers. They need their strength for the long ride home.
He helped Ella take a seat onto Sweetheart’s creaky saddle and pressed the reins into her slack hands. He squeezed her knee. “Whatever secret you’ve been keeping, we’ll work out the problem.”
Her blue eyes lacked their normal lively luster. “Once things are done they can never be undone.”
She hadn’t shied from his touch once this morning, but the distance between them had grown wider. What if the trouble wasn’t solvable? What if she insisted on returning east? A fright similar to what he had experienced as a homeless boy living an uncertain life in the alleys of Indianapolis pierced his heart. “We will work out the matter. We have to.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
After an all-day struggle to reach the safety of the ranch, Ella sat on the edge of Ty’s bed, her open satchel beside her. Hands trembling, she retrieved her worn journal. She glanced up at Ty. “I had to come to Wyoming Territory once I saw the photograph of my brother’s saber in the Marriage Gazette.”
Unnaturally quiet since she’d told him she needed to confess her real reason for marrying him, he poked around inside her satchel, and upon spotting her gun, he raised a brow. “You travel with a loaded Colt Walker. I can’t decide whether you are the bravest woman I’ve ever known or the most reckless. Are you aware of how finicky a Walker is?”
She raised her chin. “Granny Bessie taught me how to load and shoot.”
His mouth crooked. “Why did you feel the need to carry a gun?”
She opened the journal, handed it to Ty, and watched him examine the photograph with her heart in her throat.
Swaying on his feet, he kneaded his forehead. “The saber was your brother’s?”
She twisted the tail of her braid. “‘JH.’ Johnny Hunter.”
Ty’s face turned deathly white. “I had to kill him. He gave me no choice. I had to.”
Grief and pain welled. She hid her face in her hands. “Why? He was just a boy.”
The mattress sank under Ty’s weight and he pulled her to his chest. “Pa and the other men in our unit had their backs turned to your brother, disarming the other captives. I think they planned to release him. Everything happened so fast. Your brother charged at Pa Malcolm with the saber. I couldn’t allow him to kill Pa. I had no choice.”
The despair in Ty’s voice cut through her grief. He hadn’t acted in malice or cold-heartedly. He’d been a son protecting his father. “You were both boys.”
“Tell me you don’t hate me.” Ty’s voice cracked. “But you have to hate me.”
Aching for Ty and Johnny and herself, she hugged Ty. “I don’t hate you.”
He tipped her chin up. “But you can’t forgive me? You never intended to stay, did you?”
Her choices were intolerable. Did she want to make Granny Bessie and the Nancy Harts proud by rescuing Johnny’s saber from the clutches of a Yankee soldier or did she want to live at Sweet Creek Ranch with Ty Haven as her husband? She drew a shaky breath. “Could you forgive me if I killed your Pa to save Johnny?”
A distraught expression crossed his face. He freed himself from her hold, and walked stiffly around the end of the four-poster bed to the window beside the cherrywood dresser.
She peered over the edge of the brown and gold gingham quilt, watched him pry up a pine board, reach below the floor, and carefully extract a long, curved saber.
Her stomach knotted. Images flashed through her mind of Johnny marching around their tidy apartment located over Daddy’s hardware store.
Ty returned and held the saber out in front of her, presenting it as if she were the executioner at his death.
Like she’d done so many times with the photograph, she traced the raised initials on the band below the black grip, the pad of her finger bumping over the “J” and “H.” “Why hide it under the floor?”
He placed the saber on the bed beside her. “I didn’t want the saber. Sergeant Kimball insisted…made sure I had my picture taken with it. I haven’t had my picture taken since. I try not to think on that time…I…he—” Ty rubbed his forehead. “Your brother was surprised. Good Lord forgive me, I can still see the surprise in his eyes after I fired my rifle. And he said, ‘Tell Momma I tried, tell Momma I tried.’”
Ella tugged on Ty’s arm, and he sat unresistingly beside her. “It’s not all your fault. Do you hear me?” She dug her shoulder into his shoulder. “I’m cold. Hold me.”
A shudder went through him, and his solid, capable arms circled her. “I can add more coals to the fire.”
She rested her face against his arm. “Momma made Johnny promise he would kill the Yankees if they came to LaGrange. She wasn’t herself after Daddy was killed at Manassas. Momma mad
e Johnny practice stabbing a straw man with his saber. And Johnny and I would march down the main street of LaGrange beside the Nancy Harts as they drilled every Saturday and Wednesday, pretending we were soldiers.”
“The Nancy Harts?” Ty asked. “I recall a group of armed women marching out of LaGrange to meet our army, and them threatening to fire upon us unless we promised not to sack and burn their homes. First time we ever saw such a sight. You were with these Nancy Hart ladies?”
Anguish and pride jostled for room in her heart. Though she hadn’t known it at the time, Johnny was already dead, killed in nearby West Point after the fort had called on all the able-bodied men from the LaGrange hospital to join in the fight. Momma had taken to bed sick at the news the Yankees were close by and Johnny had tagged along with the fighting men. Eight years old at the time, Ella would never forget her last sight of thirteen-year-old Johnny prancing out of town, smiling and waving his saber. By evening the fort at West Point had surrendered.
The next day news that the three-thousand-man strong Union army was marching to LaGrange spread like wildfire. People rushed around in a blind panic to escape. Unsupervised by her mother, Ella had joined Granny Bessie and the brave Nancy Harts when they faced down the Yankee soldiers. Reluctant to open fire on the women, the commander of the Union army agreed to spare the town’s homes and Ella had learned that Johnny had been killed after being taken prisoner.
She wanted to fling the hateful saber she’d been so anxious to claim across the room. “I saw you that day, riding through town on the back of a mule cart, leaning on the hilt of Johnny’s saber. Your eyes were dark and callous and hateful.”
“I was in shock,” he said, pulling away, voice thick with emotion.
She grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t let go of me. Hold me closer.”
Ty exhaled a shuddering breath, hugged her tight, and kissed her head. “Ella, honey, where do we go from here?”
Hollowed out, she stared at the lusterless saber that had been Johnny’s pride and joy, felt the beat of Ty’s heart against her cheek, cursed the tears rushing to her eyes. She wished she’d never seen the photograph in the Marriage Gazette. Wished she’d stayed in Georgetown.
The Mail-Order Bride Carries a Gun: A Sweet Historical Western Romance (Brides of Sweet Creek Ranch Book 1) Page 9
