by Jillian Hart
“Unlikely.” She tugged her hood into place, giving the ties a yank.
“I could be there right now, for all I know.” He took his Stetson from Calvin, who offered it with mischief in his eyes. Austin smoothed the teeth marks from the brim, donned it and gave his gelding a friendly nose rub. “All afternoon long I kept thinking of those biscuits you made. I got to hoping you’d made them for tonight and maybe a stew, something to warm me up on a cold spring day.”
“Well, you never know. Something even better might be on tonight’s menu,” she told him, scooping up her yarn.
“Good news. This afternoon around three-thirty I was looking forward to more of your cooking so much that I was hungry enough to eat my own shoe.” He grabbed the milk bucket and heaved open the door. “I’ve been like to die of starvation ever since. It was all I could do not to dive into the pickle barrel when I stopped by the mercantile. I kept eyeing all the food so hard, I gave Mrs. Pole a scare. As if any moment she feared I’d lose control and dive into her food stocks with my bare hands.”
“Now you’re just exaggerating.” Clutching the yarn in one arm she moved toward the doorway, but she didn’t get by him unaffected. More tingles erupted on her skin and skidded down her arms as she brushed so close to him, she could smell the hay on his coat and see the individual whiskers shadowing his jaw.
It has to be gratitude, she told herself, at a loss for another way to explain what was happening to her. No one had ever done so much for her. No one had ever shown her kindness the way he had. Of course she would feel strongly for him, for this man who was her husband.
“Seriously, Mrs. Pole swiped the sweat off her brow and blew out a sigh of great relief when I left her store.” He wedged the door shut and joined her in the blustery wind. “My stomach growled so hard, I could have been a bear standing at her counter.”
“Austin, honestly.” Just like a man, she supposed, prone to exaggeration. “I’m sure Mrs. Pole couldn’t hear your stomach.”
“Don’t be too sure. I swore I heard it echo in the store a few times as she was tallying up your yarn.” He splashed in a puddle beside her, his mouth crooked with humor.
“If that’s true, then I shall be far too embarrassed to step foot inside the mercantile again.” Rain cuffed her cheek as she turned into the wind, she took a step and her right shoe slid on the water pooled on top of the hard-packed snow. She took a step to correct it and her left shoe slid in a different direction.
“Hold on to me.” Austin’s arm wrapped around her waist, catching her before she could fall and using the ice to glide her firmly against him. Tucked into his side, her slipping shoe bumped against the side of his and slid no farther.
“That was close. Thanks.” Breathless, she tried not to let her feelings show as the fiery band of his arm burned through her clothing, a heat she could not deny. She took a tentative step, one shoe went out from under her and she was off balance and falling.
But did she? No. Again, Austin’s strength held her up even when her feet could find no purchase. Rainwater sloshed beneath her old shoes; the tread had been worn away years ago. It rained so hard and water pooled quickly, she doubted the path to the house would get any easier. She held on to him, curling her fingers into his coat.
“Try skating,” he quipped. He seemed as steadfast as one of the mountains spearing up into the rolling clouds. Twilight hovered in the edges of the sky, darkening the rain that glistened like dewdrops on his Stetson’s brim and the magnificent plane of his chest. “I’ll hold you up. I’d never let you fall.”
Her shoes were slipping everywhere—behind her, in front of her, off to the side. Was she afraid of smashing to the ground?
Not a chance. Austin’s arm held her secure, the good husband he was, and more gratitude filled her. The appreciation for him simply did not stop. He was the kind of man a woman could lean on and depend on. A man who tried never to let anyone down.
“That’s it, you’re getting it.” His words were cut to shreds by the worsening wind. Cold bullets shot down from the sky hard enough to ping off the hard-packed ice.
Suddenly, she slid again. This time she gave a little push away from Austin’s hold and glided. For a few moments, rain pelted her face and the wind billowed her skirts and she was free, skimming along. Sailing along as light as a feather.
“Oh, my, I can’t believe I did that.” She grabbed the banister with her free hand. Joy sailed through her, as freely as the late April breeze. “I guess my old shoes are good for something.”
“I can see you’re glad you kept them.” He splashed up to her, his big shadow falling across her. “You put them to good use.”
“It was fun.” She hopped onto the first step.
“Good. Doesn’t sound like you’ve had a lot of fun in your life. It’s time to make up for that.” His boots splashed to a stop in front of her, the milk pail swinging in one hand. His gaze roamed her face, pink and glowing. Happiness looked amazing on her, intensifying her natural beauty and combining to make her more stunning than a simple man like him could take. Overwhelmed, he swallowed to find his throat dry. “You look a little different. Like a sunny May day. I don’t know how else to say it.”
“I know what you mean. I feel like a May day. That it will be blue skies ahead any moment now.” Raindrops clung to her hood and the wet locks of hair curled adorably around her dear face. They glittered like diamonds, making her look like a lost princess in a peasant’s coat. Looking at her could make a man believe.
“Spring is already here. That’s what this rain is.” He realized he’d leaned in closer to her, his gaze watching every little movement of her mouth. Those perfect lips, lush and flawless and satin-soft, mesmerized him more than anything had in his entire life.
“Austin, I wasn’t talking about the weather.”
“I know. I’m just bad at metaphors.” His brain wasn’t working one whit. All he could see was the dazzle inside her—her joy, her sweetness and her bright spirit. Love filled his chest with a painful ache, the growing pains of a heart expanding.
“I’ve yet to see anything you’re bad at,” she argued, chin up with a new mischievous gleam. He couldn’t help leaning closer, watching her mouth form those words and stretch into a soft smile. “You’re good at everything.”
“I’m not so good at embroidery,” he quipped, but the humor never reached his words. It died away at a much stronger emotion that had him tipping slowly closer.
He watched her eyes widen when she realized what he wanted. Her soft lips grew softer. He knew kissing her would be heaven as he cupped her chin in his free hand, letting raindrops tumble over them like promises. He thought about slanting his lips over hers. Everything within him wanted her kiss. He needed it more than words could say.
Chapter Fourteen
Her laughter died as she watched him lean in closer, his pupils dilating to full black. She shivered involuntarily—not cold and not afraid. Austin stared so hard at her mouth he didn’t even seem to breathe. Her first thought was no, she wasn’t ready for this. She considered darting away and escaping into the house. Panic shot through her, but she didn’t move. She would have to be blind not to see how intent Austin was as he hesitated, a silent question in his eyes asking her if he could proceed.
He was asking—not doing what he wanted and forcing her to his will. How could she say no to him? He towered above her with longing written in shades of blue in his eyes. She braced as the inches separating them became an inch, until her breath mingled with his and she could see so far into him, she saw his soul. A strange sympathy filled her, one so strong it was as if she could feel the intensity of his longing for one single kiss.
The first brush of his mouth to hers surprised her with its softness. Just one feather-light stroke across the surface of her lips and it left a tingle behind.
That was a
kiss? She blinked, dazed, confused by the simple beauty of an act she’d dreaded—one she knew for a fact was unpleasant. Emotion wrapped around her so tightly she could not breathe as Austin slanted his lips over hers a second time, intending to make this one last.
Sensation spread across the surface of her lips, both sweet and heated in the same moment, both gentle and ardent. Her hand curled into the fabric of his coat, holding on because it felt as if her feet had left the step. The world began to twirl, and the only thing steady and certain was Austin. His kiss balanced her. His lips caressed hers in slow, measured strokes that made her knees weak and tugged hurtfully at the edges of her guarded heart.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, they were both breathless, staring into each other’s eyes as if nothing else existed. What did he see when he looked at her? The woman who could never love him? Or the one he hoped would?
Her pulse pounded so hard in her ears, it drowned out all else—the strike of wind, the music of rain and the exhale of her own breath as she realized what she’d done. In accepting his kiss, then Austin would expect more. She swallowed hard, panic building as she thought of his weight trapping her on the mattress, of how she’d have to hold back her tears of pain and shame and count the minutes until he was done. Panic lodged in her throat and she vaguely heard him say her name, but it was hard to focus on with her pulse thundering in her ears.
“Willa.” His hand at her jawline was the gentlest touch she’d ever known. Caring telegraphed through him and into her, a force she wanted to deny and couldn’t. Austin wanted something from her she didn’t know how to give him, and the thought of it frightened her more than the notion of lying beneath him in their bed.
“We’re getting rained on.” Mellow humor layered his voice, his tone intimate and rich, and he leaned in closer to her as if a barricade between them had been lowered. His forehead brushed hers. She couldn’t exactly say why it felt tender and intimate, as if he’d taken a step closer to her emotionally. He gazed into her eyes, which resonated with an emotion she didn’t recognize. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“C’mon, I don’t want you to catch a chill.” His smile could make her forget the cold and damp and maybe even her panic. His fingers laced through hers as he tugged her up the steps. “We have to take extra care of you in your condition.”
“Right.” Relief ticked through her as she slipped through the door he held for her.
She set down her bundle and struggled to get her buttons through the wet wool buttonholes as Austin stepped behind her to help her. His body heat radiated through her and her breath caught. She was aware of every movement he made—the weight of his hands on her shoulders, holding her dripping coat so she could slip out of it, and the fan of his breath against her nape before she swirled away.
Why was she breathless? Why couldn’t she seem to see straight as she circled around the sofa? She caught the end of the yellow material spread out on the kitchen table and started folding. The tingles remained on her lips, apparently burned there like a brand from his kiss.
That kiss. She shook her head, her fingers fumbling as she flipped the fold of calico over and over on itself until the table was clear. Austin’s kiss was like nothing she’d ever felt. No whiskey breath, no drunken harshness, no painful crush of his lips to hers—no, Austin’s kiss was as sweet as a fairy tale.
“Willa, you’ve been busy.” Austin stayed in the shadows of the room, taking his time removing his boots, a hulking darkness at the edge of her vision. “What did you do today, polish every bit of wood in the house?”
“It didn’t take long. I haven’t polished the other rooms yet.” She kept her back to him as she checked on the soup. The instant she lifted the lid, steam wafted up at her, spicy and fragrant and rich, bubbling perfectly. Why couldn’t she stop being aware of him? Every pad of his step, every rustle of his clothes and the measured softness of his breathing?
She didn’t want this. She wanted to go back to the blissful distance that used to stretch between them. Panic beat through her blood as she stirred the soup, watching the soft beans and chunks of roast beef swirl in the kettle. Don’t think about him, she told herself. Just forget his kiss.
That kiss. If only she could forget it.
“I thought we talked about this.” The poker clinked against the grate as he added more wood. The whoosh of the fire, the snap and crackle of bark burning and the nearness of Austin’s presence put her teeth on edge. She never should have allowed him to kiss her. She gripped a bowl to fill, her hand trembling just enough she had to worry about spilling as she ladled soup. What was happening to her? How did she make it stop?
“I don’t want you working so hard, Willa.” More wood clunked onto the grate. “I’m not going to say it again.”
She bit her lip, holding words inside. She wanted to tell him he didn’t own her. Memories swirled up, bringing Jed’s words into her thoughts. You’re my property, woman. When I tell you to do something, you’d damn well better do it or I’ll make you sorry you didn’t.
Austin wasn’t like that, but wasn’t that what lay beneath his words? The reminder that his word was law in this house? Her hand trembled as she carried the full bowls to the table, nearly sloshing soup over the rims. Utensils clinked terribly when she set knives, spoons and forks into place. She was so upset with the ghost of his kiss still imprinted on her lips, that the basket of rolls slammed against the table with surprising force. That’s how angry she was.
“Hey.” Austin came from behind, his footsteps measured and unhurried, his stride confident, a man in his domain. He didn’t bow to what she wanted. He did just what he pleased, bringing her expensive yarn and watching her skate across the ice and kissing her like he was a prince in a storybook, something that could not possibly be true.
The teapot slammed against the table with a hard clank. That was her doing, too.
“Willa.” His hands curled over her shoulders, just touching her because it was what he wanted to do, because he had that right. Did he ask her permission? No. He just did it, towering behind her, dominating her with his superior strength and awesome good looks and all she could do was to hope he didn’t try to kiss her again because she didn’t think she could take it.
“You seem awfully upset.”
“You think so?” She whirled from his touch to plop the tea ball into the pot. “I hope you like bean soup. I didn’t get your permission before I decided on tonight’s meal.”
“It smells good. It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.” He reached over to grab a dish towel and lifted the rumbling teakettle from the stove. He ignored her huff of frustration as he went ahead and filled the teapot for her. “It’s a good night for soup. All that damp and cold out there. It’s just what I was hoping for. It’ll warm us right up.”
“I’m glad you approve.” The butter dish landed on the table with a hard clunk. The lid jumped straight up and landed a little askew, but she didn’t seem to notice as she marched toward him, jaw tight, lips in a no-nonsense straight line and her eyes flashing fire.
Maybe it was best to try another compliment. The woman looked like she could use one. “The rolls smell good, too. Is that my mother’s recipe.”
“Evelyn gave it to me on Sunday.” She shouldered past him, grabbed the teapot and stalked the few feet to the table, her back straight, her shoulders braced, her movements quick and harsh. Anger rose off her like steam from the soup as the teapot landed next to her plate.
Interesting. He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. He wasn’t sure what had happened to his reserved and meek bride, but this side of her interested him. He never would have guessed it was there. Curious. Looked like it was time for another compliment. “It was good of you. I like soup.”
“Isn’t that what we agreed to? That I would cook your meals and keep your house?”
“That we did.” He rushed to grab her chair and pull it out for her. His actions earned him a disparaging look, as if he were the last thing she wanted to set eyes on. How dear she looked with her gaze sizzling and raindrops crowning her hair like jewels.
“Not once did we discuss kissing.” Sparks snapped as she focused on him.
“That’s true.” He couldn’t deny it.
“Kissing has nothing to do with my work around here.” She slipped onto the cushion, looking as if she didn’t much like his hand on her chair within close proximity to her. She must have had no notion how funny she was or how dear. It just made him love her more.
“Right. I got that.” He went to help her scoot her chair in but she jerked it forward out of his hands. The loud thump echoed in the kitchen but it didn’t trouble him. “Kissing was not mentioned in your advertisement.”
“It wasn’t mentioned as a condition of our marriage either, and I’ll thank you not to forget it.” She gave her napkin a hard snap. “You just can’t go around doing whatever you want.”
“Right. Got it.” He had to step on his toe to keep from laughing. His chest swelled up with a mixture of amusement and affection that left him half choking and half struggling for words. “Next time I want to kiss you, I’ll ask you first.”
“Yes, you do that.” She took a roll from the basket and broke it open, her pretty mouth pursed up kissably. “It’s the least you can do.”
“The very least,” he agreed, having learned long ago not to argue with a mad woman. He settled into his chair and picked up his spoon. The only thing that looked more delicious than the meal in front of him was his bride glaring at him.
“I don’t think you’re taking me seriously. Is that a grin on your face?”
“No. It’s appreciation for the meal. It looks mighty good.” What was wrong with him that he wanted to reach across the table and capture her lips in a much less gentle kiss? “Thanks for going to all the trouble today to fix it.”
