Ryder's Wife

by Sharon Sala

  He stepped back in horror and reached for the rabbit’s foot in the pocket of his pants. All he could think as he backed away was, Seven long years of bad luck.

  CHAPTER 4

  Casey roused from a restless sleep. Disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings, it took a few moments for reality to return. Someone moaned. Her first thought was that Ryder could be sick. Quietly, she crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the door, aware that he’d made his bed in the middle of the living room floor. The moan came again, only this time, louder.

  When she’d seen him last, he’d been unfolding a sleeping bag. But this was frightening. She didn’t know what to make of it. What if he was hurt, or sick?

  Just as she turned the doorknob, something crashed to the floor. An image of intruders made her hesitate, but only for a moment.

  The door opened inward on well-oiled hinges. She peered into the living room, searching the shadows to make certain she and Ryder were still alone. The outer door was shut, as were the windows. As she listened, the hum of the central air-conditioning unit kicked on, changing the texture of the night. She took a step forward, then another, then another until she was behind the sofa and peering over it.

  Ryder was stretched out in his sleeping bag there on the floor. Lying half in and half out of the faint glow from the security lights outside, he seemed more shadow than substance.

  And while she was watching, he jerked and then moaned, throwing one arm over his eyes, as if warding off some unseen blow.

  This explained the sounds that had wakened her. Ryder appeared to be dreaming. She moved closer, leaning over the sofa for. a better view. And as she did, accidentally scooted it with the force of her body. The wooden legs screeched across the vinyl flooring like chalk on a blackboard. The sound was enough to wake the dead… and Ryder.

  He came up and out of his sleeping bag and before Casey could react, he had grabbed her by the throat, and pinned her to the wall. His face and body were in darkness, but there was enough light for her to know to be afraid. The look in his eyes was grim, and the grip he had around her throat was all but deadly. She grabbed at his wrists before his grip tightened further.

  “Ryder…Ryder, it’s me.”

  “Oh, my God!” He jerked, moving his hand from her throat to the side of her face in a quick gesture of assurance. “Dammit, Casey, I’m sorry, but you startled me.”

  Casey closed her eyes as her legs went weak.

  She rubbed at the tightness in her throat where his fingers had been. “It’s okay. It was partly my fault for sneaking up on you like that.”

  Remorse shafted through him as he saw her fingering her throat. Dammit, he’d hurt her. He caught her hand, and then the moment they touched, wished that he’d kept his hands to himself. She was too close and too tempting.

  Her focus suddenly shifted from her throat to him. They were face-to-face—body to body, and only inches from each other’s lips.

  Breath caught. Hearts stopped. First hers, then his.

  She swallowed. “You were having a bad dream.”

  He inhaled slowly then spoke. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  Once again, she was struck by the size of him, of the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the light coming through the windows behind him.

  “It’s okay. It was partly my fault,” she said.

  She moved her hand and accidentally brushed the surface of his chest. His skin felt combustible. Muscles tensed beneath her fingertips and she jerked back her hand.

  When he took a deep breath, she looked up. His eyes were glittering and there was a faint sheen of perspiration on his body. At that moment, she remembered what she was wearing, and realized what he was not.

  He slept in the buff.

  Her gown was short and sheer.

  Seduction had been the last thing on her mind when she’d bought it, but from the way Ryder was staring at her now, it wasn’t far from his. She could almost hear what he was thinking. He was her husband. This was their first night alone. But from her standpoint, what he was so obviously thinking could not—must not—happen.

  Ryder was in shock. To wake up from the horror of reliving the crash that had killed his father to find a beautiful, half dressed woman within reach made him want. He wanted to make love. He wanted to feel the softness of a woman’s body—a woman’s lips. To get lost in that certain rapture. To celebrate life because he couldn’t forget death. That’s what he wanted. But it wasn’t going to happen, and because he knew it, his voice was harsh and angry.

  “Go back to bed.”

  She tried to explain. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

  He pinned her against the wall with a hand on either side of her head and leaned down, so close to her that his whisper was as loud as a shout.

  “Either get the hell out of my sight or take off your clothes.”

  Casey bolted for the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and then leaning against it, as if the weight of her body might add strength to the flimsy barrier that stood between them.

  For several interminable seconds she stood without moving, listening for the sound of footsteps. When all she heard were a few muffled curses and then the sound of a slamming door, she relaxed and then panicked. What if he was leaving for good?

  She opened the door with a jerk, but when she realized all of his things were still inside, she shut it again. She crawled into bed and pulled up the covers, again, erecting another puny barrier between them.

  In spite of the cool air circulating throughout the room, it seemed stifling. And while she waited anxiously for him to return, she considered their temporary bonds.

  Ryder Justice had promised to love and honor her, to take care of her in sickness and in health. She didn’t know about the loving, but some part of her trusted that he wouldn’t lie. He’d said he would stay the year and she believed him. It was that fact alone that gave her ease enough to go back to sleep.

  When she woke again, the alarm on the bedside table was going off, and water was running in the shower.

  * * *

  Casey’s first impulse was fear. He’d come into her room and she’d never known. Her second was picturing what he was doing. Remembering the condition in which he’d emerged last night, she jumped out of bed, grabbing for her robe and slippers as she ran a hasty brush through the tangles in her hair. This time when he came out of the shower, she had no intention of being anywhere in sight.

  When she exited the apartment, she stood for a moment on the landing, savoring the Mississippi morning. It was going to be another hot one, she could tell. The thought of freshly brewed coffee and some of Tilly’s hot biscuits and jelly drew her down the stairs with haste, across the courtyard, in the back door of the mansion, and into the kitchen.

  “Something smells good,” she said.

  The woman standing at the stove turned in quick surprise. There was a faint flush from the heat of the oven staining her face and a warning in her eyes.

  “Casey Dee, you scared me half to death.”

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said, and went for her good-morning hug.

  Tilly smoothed and fussed at the long hair hanging down Casey’s back, then hugged her tightly to soften the accusation in her words. “Well now, girl, what are you doing over here without your man?”

  She sighed. If only things were as simple now as they’d been back when she was a child.

  “He’s in the shower.” Casey slumped in a chair with a pout. “Oh, Tilly, Delaney has made such a mess out of my life.”

  “No, ma’am. Delaney didn’t do it, you did. He just went and made some silly rule, and as always, you’re still running along behind him, trying to make everything right.”

  Casey was speechless. This wasn’t the sympathy she’d been wanting. She tried to glare, but it just wasn’t possible. Not at Tilly. And then she sighed. Tilly always gave her sympathy, but where Casey wanted it or not, it also came with the truth.

  “So, he started it,” Casey said, and managed
to grin.

  “And you sure did finish it, didn’t you, girl? The very idea! Going down to the flatlands to find yourself a man.”

  Casey’s eyebrows rose. “How did you know?”

  Tilly snorted delicately and returned to stirring the eggs she’d been cooking. “I know, ‘cause you’re my baby,” she said softly. “I know ’cause I make it my business to know.”

  The air in Casey’s throat became too thick to breathe. She stood and slipped her arms around Tilly’s waist, then laid her cheek in the middle of her back, relishing the familiarity of freshly ironed fabric and a steady heartbeat.

  “And I thank God that you care,” Casey said softly. “You and Joshua are all the family I have left.”

  Tilly set the skillet off the fire and turned until she and Casey were eye to eye. “No, girl, you’re wrong. You’ve got yourself a husband now.”

  Casey’s laugh was brittle. “I don’t have a husband. I have a stranger for a year.”

  Tilly took her by the shoulders and shook her. “What you have is a chance. Now make the most of it.” Before Casey could argue further, Tilly waved her away. “Go tell your man my biscuits are about ready to come out of the oven. By the time you two get back, bacon and eggs will be ready, too.”

  “But I don’t know if he likes…”

  Tilly’s stare never wavered. “Then don’t you think it’s about time you found out?”

  Casey exited the kitchen with as much grace as she could muster. After her and Ryder’s encounter last night, she was almost afraid to face him. The tail of her robe was dragging as she walked up the stairs. When she stumbled and came close to falling, she picked it up and walked the rest of the way with the hem held above her ankles.

  Ryder met her at the door. She knew that she was staring, but she hadn’t been prepared for the change in his appearance. Clean-shaven, smelling like soap and something light and musky, he seemed taller than ever. She tried not to gawk, but the new blue jeans he was wearing suited him all too well, and he’d left the top three buttons on his long-sleeved white shirt undone, revealing far too much of that broad, brown chest for her peace of mind. The only thing she recognized from before were his old black boots, and even they were shining. Still damp from his shower, his hair gleamed black in the early morning sunshine.

  “Mornin’,” he said softly, and stepped aside to let her in. “Someone from the house just called. Said they wanted a ride into the city.”

  Casey blinked, telling herself to concentrate on what he was saying instead of how he looked, but it was difficult Today, those grey eyes of his almost looked blue.

  “It isn’t even eight o’clock,” she muttered. “You haven’t had breakfast, and they can wait.”

  A slight grin cornered one edge of his mouth and then slid out of sight. “I don’t know what we’ll eat. Yesterday I forgot to buy milk.”

  “It doesn’t matter. This morning we’re having breakfast in the kitchen with Tilly. She said to hurry.”

  “Who’s Tilly?”

  “The woman who raised me after Mother and Father were killed. She’s Joshua’s wife. You remember him from yesterday?”

  He nodded, then reached for the broad-brimmed, black Stetson hanging by the door. “Someone else’s cooking sounds good to me.” When Casey moved toward their bedroom, he paused. “Aren’t you coming, or don’t you eat with the hired help?”

  She spun, and there was no mistaking the anger in her voice.

  “Don’t ever, and I mean, ever, refer to Tilly or Joshua as servants again. Do you understand?”

  Surprised by her vehemence, his estimation of her went up a notch. “Yes, ma’am, I believe that I do.”

  Again, Casey realized she’d overreacted. He must be as off center as she felt. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “Easy now.”

  Her stomach tied itself into a little knot. If only he’d quit saying those words in those tones.

  “I am easy,” she said, and then groaned beneath her breath as a grin spread across his face. “Don’t say it,” she muttered. “You know what I meant.”

  “Casey.”

  A little nervous about what he would say next, she couldn’t have been more surprised by what came out.

  “Don’t ever apologize for having a good heart.”

  After witnessing the dangerous side of him last night, his gentleness was the last thing she would have expected.

  “Was that a compliment?” she asked.

  He ignored her. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’m starving.”

  “Feel free to go on ahead. Tilly will be glad to…”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’ll wait for you,” he said.

  She inhaled sharply, and then shut the bedroom door behind her as she went inside. Her hands were shaking as she sorted through the closet for something to wear.

  I’ll wait for you.

  His promise was echoing inside her head as she brushed and zipped and buttoned. Putting on makeup was even more difficult because she found herself looking through tears, but she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t going to let that man get to her, not in any way.

  * * *

  Erica sauntered into the downstairs kitchen just as Tilly was dishing up the eggs.

  “What’s taking so long this morning?” Erica grumbled, picking a strip of hot, crisp bacon from the platter and crunching it between her teeth.

  “Get on out of my kitchen,” Tilly said. “Everything is right on time and you know it.”

  Erica hated this woman’s uppity manner, and at the same time, respected her authority just enough not to argue.

  “It’s not your kitchen,” Erica grumbled, taking one last piece of bacon with her as she started out of the room.

  “It’s not yours, either,” Tilly said sharply, and banged a spoon on the side of the pan to punctuate her remark.

  Erica glared. And then the back door opened and she forgot what she’d been about to say. She forgot she was chewing, or that she was holding her next bite in her hand. All she could do was stare—right past her sister to the man behind her. Almost choking, she managed to swallow, then dropped the other piece of bacon back onto the platter.

  Casey didn’t see Erica. Her focus was on the woman at the stove. Until Matilda Bass passed judgment on what. she’d done, she wouldn’t feel right.

  “Tilly, this is my, uh…this is Ryder Justice. Ryder, this is Matilda Bass. I consider her my second mother, as well as the best cook in the whole state of Mississippi.”

  Upon entering the kitchen, he’d taken off his hat. He extended his hand in a gesture of friendship, which Tilly accepted with obvious reticence. But Ryder behaved as if he’d known her all of his life.

  “Mrs. Bass, it’s a pleasure. If everything tastes as good as it smells, I’d warrant Casey is right.”

  Tilly’s gaze wavered. She hadn’t been prepared for someone like him, and he was someone, that she could tell. She frowned slightly. This man didn’t look like any drifter out of the flatlands. He didn’t sound like one, either. His words were sweet, his appearance sweeter. All she could think was, He’d better be good to my girl.

  She nodded regally, accepting the praise as just. “Call me Tilly, and I’m pleased to meet you, sir. You aren’t from these parts, are you?”

  He grinned. “I don’t answer to anything but Ryder, and no, ma’am, I’m not.”

  Tilly nodded in satisfaction. “I knew as much. I’d be guessing you’re from Oklahoma…or Texas. Am I right?”

  Startled by her perception, he didn’t have it in him to lie.

  “Yes, ma’am… Texas.”

  Casey felt strange. Here she was married to the man and she’d been so caught up in her own agenda, she hadn’t had enough curiosity about him to wonder where he was from, or how he’d gotten from there to here.

  “Then sit,” Tilly said. “Food’s ready.”

  Only after they’d taken their seats did Casey realize Erica was in the room. Sh
e looked up at her and smiled, but when her sister sauntered over to Ryder and ran her fingertips lightly across his back, measuring their breadth from shoulder to shoulder, the urge to slap her away from him was almost overwhelming.

  There was a cold, mirthless smile on Erica’s face as she finally glanced in Casey’s direction.

  “Well, well, princess. Even when you fall, you land on your feet, don’t you?”

  Casey’s hackles rose even further. “Let it go, Erica.”

  Erica’s expression was bland, but her eyes glittered with envy. “Oh my, I guess that didn’t come out quite right, did it?”

  The antagonism between the two sisters was palpable. Ryder suspected it probably had more to do with old wounds than with his arrival into their midst. Nevertheless, whatever its roots, he seemed to be the latest weed to cause dissent. He took it upon himself to change the subject.

  “Someone called me earlier for a ride into town. Do you know who it was?”

  Erica’s smile broadened. “It wasn’t me, but that’s not such a bad idea. I’ll bet you give really good rides.”

  Ryder’s expression blanked, and if Erica had been as astute as she believed herself to be, she would have backed off then, before it was too late. But she didn’t.

  “I’m even better at giving a hard time to people who tick me off,” he said.

  Erica’s expression froze. A slap in the face couldn’t have stunned her more.

  If Casey had been the impulsive type, she would have thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him. But she wasn’t, and the moment passed.

  “Tell whoever it is that Ryder is unavailable until we’ve finished our breakfast,” she said. “This morning, my husband and I just want a little peace and quiet and a meal to ourselves.”

  Ryder’s eyebrows rose. Husband! Now she was admitting he was her husband?

  Suddenly Ryder’s mouth was only inches from Casey’s ear. She could feet his breath—almost hear the laughter in his voice as he whispered.