Montana Bride

by Jillian Hart

  “I learned to make it at the hotel where I used to work before I married.” Her chin went up and her tone softened, but the look she tossed him did not. Daggers would be less dangerous than the stare she fixed on him. “It was the house specialty. Folks would come from miles to order it. Travelers new to the area would ask for it by name.”

  “That’s where you learned to cook so well.” He blew on his spoon to cool it before taking a bite. Flavors exploded on his tongue. He could honestly say he’d never tasted anything as good. “You’ve done a real fine job, Willa. I couldn’t have found a better cook. I’m glad the woman who stepped off the train to marry me was you.”

  “Don’t try and sweet-talk me out of my mood.” She arched one brow, taking a dainty bite of her roll. “Maybe I’ve had just about enough of you.”

  “So I see.” He didn’t comment on the faint tug of amusement he spotted at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll try to be less maddening from now on.”

  “That would be a big help.”

  “I’ll do my best, but as a man I’m naturally maddening to a woman. The sisters-in-law explained this to me before your arrival.” He took another bite of tasty soup. “You’ll have to help me out by letting me know when I’m particularly irritating to you.”

  “Count on it.” She dug into her soup, too. “And another thing. Stop telling me what to do.”

  “I’ve been doing that?” His poor heart gave a painful thud as he watched the lamplight caress the curves of her ivory face…like he longed to do. Boldly and without fear of frightening her, and his fingers ached to trace the contour of her full bottom lip. Their kiss lingered in his memory, warming him from the inside out. “It seems to me I’ve mostly been telling you not to do things.”

  “You know what I mean.” Her brows arched higher. “I’m not going to spend the rest of our marriage jumping to do what you say.”

  “Okay, I won’t expect you to.” He filled his spoon and blew on it again.

  “I’ve already done that with one man, and it wasn’t right.” She took a sip of her tea. “I was miserable. There was just no end to his bossing me around, and I won’t have it again.”

  “Right.” His easygoing agreement didn’t hold a single note of anger. He shrugged his big shoulders, in a this-is-not-a-big-deal gesture. “I never meant to order you around, Willa. I’m concerned about you is all.”

  “I’m fine.” Her anger ran out of steam seeing his caring. He exuded it just as he exuded an overpowering masculinity. It was impossible to miss, written everywhere in the tone of his voice, in the cut of his face and the gleam of his blue eyes. “Let’s just eat our meal.”

  “Whatever you say.” A hint of amusement lingered on his lips, on those lips that had felt like a dream on hers. Like something she used to imagine up as a young girl in a loveless home and in a childhood filled with hard work. One day, she’d dreamed a handsome man would fall in love and marry her and his kisses would be like stardust, so pure and true she could feel how much he loved her.

  Grown up now, she knew that love didn’t exist. So why did the dreams she’d thought long dead come alive with hope? Caring wasn’t love, she told herself. Caring was a natural result of duty to another human being. She set down her cup, determined to avoid looking at him. Her bowl of soup held all of her attention, not the man across from her. She did not want to care about him because it terrified her. Just like his kiss had.

  Had she really talked to him like that? She seized her spoon with white-knuckled force. Shame burned her face as she took a small sip. What had come over her? She thought of everything she’d said to him—every little thing—and the way she’d said it, scolding him like a shrew.

  He’d taken every word amiably. He’d let her talk, he’d let her say those things to him and he hadn’t burst into an insulted rage. Jed would have beaten her terribly. Mortified, she dared to watch her new husband through her lashes, spooning up soup, eating rolls and sipping coffee with a sort of habitual rhythm that spoke of a man used to eating his suppers alone and without conversation.

  Disgrace filled her and her head bobbed down of its own accord. The man had waited so long for a bride. Why did it have to be her? She was going to fail him. Worse, she feared after tonight she already had. Anyone could see he deserved more than she could ever give.

  * * *

  After Willa’s little outburst, Austin figured a smart man wouldn’t push away from the table and lend a hand with the dishes where it wasn’t welcomed. His sisters had warned him to be gentle because a lady’s emotions were closer to the surface during pregnancy, not that he’d needed the warning. He had a new appreciation for his bride as he added wood to the fires while she cleared the table. Who knew she had a temper, and a cute one, to boot? She did the dishes, gathered up her sewing and settled down on the sofa while he watched her over the top of his volume of Shakespeare, wondering what other sides of her he had yet to see.

  She sat with her head bent over her work, her needle darting in and out of the cheerful yellow fabric with quick precision. The click of the needle’s tip against her thimble added a pleasant rhythm to his reading. He turned the page, where the ghost of Hamlet’s father haunted the battlements, and yet his eyes couldn’t fix on the text. Willa drew his attention with dark tendrils fallings around her face in artful curls. Her lips pursed in concentration.

  Those lips. Desire kicked through him, remembering how her lips had felt beneath his. The memory of their kiss gripped him, refusing to let go. Willa sure had been worked up over that kiss.

  But she hadn’t said there wouldn’t be another.

  He pondered that as the clock ticked the passing hours on the mantel, the logs in the grate crumbled with a thud and he pushed out of his chair to tend to the flying embers. No, she hadn’t forbidden him to kiss her when she’d been very clear about what she would and would not put up with around here. He hid his smile from her as he knelt at the hearth.

  It’s nearly bedtime, I’ll just bank the fire, he almost said and caught himself. Perhaps in Willa’s present mood, she would see that as bossy so he rephrased. “Willa, it’s almost bedtime. Do you think I should bank the fire or were you going to stay up a little later?”

  “No, go ahead and put down the fire.” She looked up from her sewing, her voice soft, but she avoided looking at him. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay.”

  He did as he was told, his senses staying attuned to her. Firelight danced in his eyes and fanned his face, but it was Willa who he envisioned folding up her sewing for the night. Willa, whose skirts rustled as she stood. He knew the beat of her step as she circled around the sofa. He listened to the tinkle of the china chimney, watched darkness descend as the lamp winked out and even in the darkness he could recognize the hint of her slender shape and her graceful lines. His heart thundered hopefully in the silence between them.

  “Good night.” Her words sounded humble, hardly more than a whisper as her silhouette moved away.

  “’Night.” He gripped the handle tightly, swallowing hard as she walked from the room. The shadows clung to her, trying to swallow her up and steal her from his sight. He knelt back to his work, but the small shovel banged against the grate because he wasn’t paying close enough attention to what he was doing. She held his senses captive, even as she closed the bedroom door. Although he could no longer see her, she held him.

  He fought images of her undressing alone in the dark, of standing there vulnerable and beautiful before she slipped her nightgown over her head. Tenderness surged through him like an ocean wave, obliterating everything else inside him—his wants, his needs, his dreams. All that mattered was Willa’s wants and Willa’s needs. Her dreams had become everything to him.

  After he banked the coals to keep them warm through the night, he rose to his feet. He took his time checking the locks on both front and kitchen doo
rs before heading toward their room. Probably it would be best to give her plenty of time to crawl in bed before he opened the door. Remembering her earlier admonishments, he rapped his knuckles on the door in warning before easing into the silent room. A single lamp glowed, the wink turned low, giving barely enough light to see the slight bump beneath the covers that Willa made on her side of the bed.

  Willa. More tenderness for her just kept rising up, made new every time he thought of her. She was turned on her side away from him, facing the wall, breathing so quietly she may already be asleep. He moved quietly, shrugging out of his clothes and hanging them with care. He didn’t want Willa to find them on the floor come morning. Grinning at the memory of her temper, he padded across the floor to his side of the bed in his long underwear. He turned out the lamp, eased onto the mattress and stretched out beside his bride.

  She was sleeping. He eased up on one elbow to study her. Soft breath, sweet woman. He breathed in her faint rose scent and his chest squeezed tight. He didn’t know what the future would bring, but as he settled onto his pillow and on his side watching her, hope lingered, even in the dark. She’d said she would never love him, that she didn’t believe in that rare affection, but she’d reacted quite strongly to his kiss. He’d looked into her eyes and saw her gentle caring spirit. Maybe all she needed was time.

  He let his eyes drift shut and felt her stir in her sleep. She rolled over, so close a lock of her hair caught on his whiskery chin. He didn’t dare move, he didn’t even breathe as she snuggled in against his chest. With a little sigh, she continued sleeping. When he carefully eased his arms around her, his heart sang.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willa came slowly awake, warm and contented, and as sleep faded her awareness returned. Comfortable bed, the covers tucked beneath her chin and strong arms held her loosely. She opened her eyes in the still-dark room, realizing something was amiss. Something was out of sorts. Austin’s body heat seeped into her, where he pressed up against her in the center of their bed.

  Had he tugged her over in his sleep, or had she migrated over in hers? That question rattled her heart against her ribs as she gasped, fully awake. Austin’s relaxed and rhythmic breathing assured her he still slept, that he wasn’t cognizant of her predicament. The weight of his arm pressed on her heavily—not unpleasantly so—but still, it trapped her where she lay.

  The threat of memories trying to surface had her breathing slow and deep to fight them back. She wasn’t going to panic. Austin wouldn’t hurt her; she knew that for sure after the way she’d treated him last night. The mortification rushed back with renewed force. She would be lucky if he didn’t march her to the train and send her away this morning. They had not consummated their marriage so nothing truly held her here. As soon as she thought it, she knew Austin would never treat anyone that way, even a woman who had given him a piece of her mind.

  What had she been thinking? That question tortured her again as she gingerly lifted his arm off her just enough to slip away. Without his heat, she instantly felt the chill of the early morning. Goose bumps raced across her skin, but she wasn’t entirely sure it was from the cool air. And why was she breathing so quick and hard? The man affected her far more than she realized.

  She sat up on her side of the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress. Her head swam, her stomach swam and she closed her eyes, praying the dizziness would pass. She needed a clear head to think. She had to figure out what to do after last night. How was she going to react to him? How was she going to forget about their kiss?

  His kiss was a dream and it stirred up longings within her she didn’t understand. It made her want to kiss him back. It made her want to believe that those stories she’d believed in as a girl—the ones of true love and happily-ever-after—weren’t all lies. That maybe somewhere in this world true love really happened to an ordinary woman like her.

  That was dangerous thinking. Her head stopped spinning and her stomach remained relatively still, for the moment, so she opened her eyes. The twitter of birds outside the window told her that sunup was not far away. Austin’s deep and even breathing remained unbroken.

  Memories surfaced from years ago as a first-time bride, when she’d been naive in the ways of men. She remembered lying on the floor of her shanty, pain drilling through her head and light burning her eyes. She hadn’t known how long she’d been unconscious, but the blood that had been running freely down her face had dried on her skin and stained her dress and the dirt floor. Everything hurt so fiercely she didn’t think she could move until Jed kicked her in the stomach. Get up and don’t back talk to me again.

  She blinked hard to erase that memory of her second hour in their shanty as Jed’s bride. Emotions greater than thankfulness ached within her now.

  Very hazardous emotions.

  Don’t look at Austin, she told herself. Just turn your back on him and get out of bed. But did her eyes listen?

  Not a chance. They slid against her will to study him. He lay on his side, big and relaxed, taking up half the bed. Tousled dark hair tumbled over his forehead and a cowlick stood up at the crown of his head.

  Emotion curled within her so achingly sweet she had to catch her breath and steady herself against the headboard. Nothing had hurt quite like the sensation she felt—a pain that wasn’t a pain but more like a deep wrenching within her. As if a room opened up in the vicinity of her heart, making space where there had never been before.

  What was the man doing to her?

  “Good morning.” He opened his eyes, deep inky pools in the darkness. He stretched lazily, looking comfortable and at home beside her. “You’re awake early.”

  “I guess it was the rain.” And the fact that she’d been in his arms, tucked close against him. How long had she slept like that? A few minutes? Hours? All night?

  “Looks like spring may be here to stay. I think we’ve had our last winter squall.” He eased up on one elbow and sat up in bed, looking harmless and completely safe.

  Safe? No, she’d been wrong about that, judging by her body’s reaction. She wasn’t safe with him. He tied her up in knots. He confused her. And watching him sleep—tousled and rugged—well, it did something to her she couldn’t define.

  “How did you sleep?” He yawned, stretching his arms again, looking like a man content with himself. “Good?”

  “All right.” That seemed a harmless answer, because she really did feel rested. Her gaze trailed to his chest and she clearly remembered how hard and hot he’d felt tucked in behind her.

  Goodness, what was wrong with her? Heat flamed across her face. At least it was still dark so he couldn’t tell. The last thing she wanted was for him to catch her staring at his chest. Her only saving grace was that he didn’t know she’d been in his arms.

  “I’m surprised to see you sitting up. How’s your morning sickness?” Friendliness danced in his morning-rough voice. “Shouldn’t you be lying down?”

  “Maybe.” Her head began to spin again and she slipped down onto her pillow.

  “That’s right, take it easy.” He held the covers for her. Once she was settled he tucked them around her. Was it her imagination, or was he still grinning? He straightened away from her but didn’t move away completely. “You stay warm. I’ll start the fires and bring you some tea.”

  “No, don’t go to the trouble.” She tried to sit up, but her stomach protested so she stayed where she was, willing it to settle. The last thing she wanted to do was to be sick in front of Austin.

  “Just rest.” His hand caressed her forehead, a light brush of his fingertips across her skin. Perhaps the touch was meant to be reassuring, but it blazed a trail of heat that seared long after he moved away.

  She listened to the door creak open and his footsteps echo in the main room. She was alone, but she didn’t feel alone. Awareness of him remained like his touch on her skin. He
r stomach roiled, threatening to send her dashing to the chamber pot.

  Just lay quiet, she told herself. It will pass. But it didn’t. Her stomach clenched in a hard spasm, she flung back the covers and raced to the corner. Just in time. She leaned over the copper bowl, abdomen heaving, tears running down her face she wretched so hard.

  When it was over, she sank onto her knees. No sense leaving in case she had need of the pot again. She closed her eyes to keep the room from swirling and took short, measured breaths.

  Austin’s footsteps padded closer and only then did she realize the door was open. He’d clearly heard everything. Embarrassment added to her misery as she listened to him come closer.

  “Hey, are you okay?” He knelt beside her, one hand settling on her back. Another dangerous touch that sparked heat along her skin where his wide palm rested. He smelled good, like pine and wood smoke. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  “Not yet.” She shook her head once, then groaned because the room began to spin again. Worse, her stomach coiled up uncontrollably and she heaved again—in front of him. There wasn’t one thing she could do to stop it. Could this be any more embarrassing? She leaned over the chamber pot, gasping, hoping the agony would come to an end.

  “What a tough morning you’re having.” His baritone rumbled low and his voice was so full of affection she could no longer deny it was there. It rang in the notes of his voice, lingering in the still room.

  Only then did she realize he’d been holding her hair back for her. He handed her a damp washcloth for her face. Lamplight tumbled in from the front room and highlighted the concern carved into his features.

  “I’ve got water heating.” He slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her against his chest, standing easily as if she weighed nothing at all. He carried her without any effort across the room. “You don’t weigh much more than a sack of grain.”

  “A big sack of grain,” she corrected, so weary she couldn’t help letting her cheek fall against his shoulder.