The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride

by Debra Cowan

“I know you went to prison for killing a man, but I don’t know why you killed him.”

  “You know I did it, though. Why does the reason matter?”

  “Because you know every single thing about me. You know why I killed Tom.”

  His skin felt too small. So did the house. How had they gotten on this topic? “Ivy, the point is, you know the worst thing about me.”

  “I thought I knew Tom, too.”

  I’m not him! Gideon bit back the words. As much as he didn’t want to share this story, he was going to. Considering what she’d just told him about her late husband and her desire to know everything about Gideon, he didn’t want her to think he was hiding anything.

  “All right, then.”

  A sudden heavy rustling noise erupted outside, startling them both. Thunder jumped up and faced the door, growling. Something struck a piece of wood with a sharp hammerlike thwap.

  Gideon’s gaze shot to Ivy’s.

  “Someone’s out there,” they said together.

  Chapter Eleven

  Drawing his gun, Gideon started for the back door. “Stay here.”

  “I can help—”

  “No.” His voice was harsh, but he didn’t care. Not when they were talking about her safety. “It might be the same person who hit you on the back of the head.”

  Though she looked as if she would protest, she nodded. “All right, but I’m getting my gun.”

  He quietly opened the door and slipped outside, working his way up the side of the house. A swarm of squawking birds flew from the direction of the woods fronting Ivy’s house. That explained the rustling noise they’d heard. In the corral, the horses jostled each other, crowding against the gate. One or more of them must have kicked the slatted walls in their earlier panic.

  Gideon scanned the area around the barn, then the front yard. His gaze shifted to the woods. Was whatever had disturbed the animals still in those trees? The birds and horses had settled, but unease still hummed at the base of his spine.

  He started for the woods then decided he should tell Ivy what he was doing. He turned back toward the house. A gunshot cracked the air.

  Gideon pivoted just as a bullet slammed into his left shoulder. Searing pain blazed through him. From the house, he heard Ivy scream. The pup barked frantically. The birds burst into flight again.

  Scrambling for cover, he skidded toward the far corner of the corral. The horses shied, bumping and pushing at each other. Cows bawled from the pasture.

  The shot had definitely come from the woods. Where was the bastard? Gideon scanned the trees then squeezed the trigger on his own weapon, trying to draw fire so he could determine the shooter’s position. There was no return round.

  His upper arm burned like blue blazes. Blood plastered his sleeve to his skin. It was pure luck that he’d turned toward the house. If he hadn’t, he would’ve been hit dead center in the chest.

  He pulled the trigger a second time. Again, no answering gunfire. Suddenly he felt a slight vibration in the ground, then heard the pounding of hooves heading away from the house.

  Was the shooter leaving? There had been only one gunshot, and it had come from one place. A single shooter? Just as Gideon decided the gunman was gone and eased down against the corral post, he saw Ivy racing toward him.

  His heart jumped to his throat. There had been no more shooting, but Gideon didn’t care.

  When she reached him, he grabbed a handful of skirts, yanking her to the ground.

  “Get down, woman!” Cold sweat slicked his palms as anger and fear nearly choked him. “I told you to stay inside.”

  “I saw you’d been hit!”

  “You could’ve been, too.”

  “Whoever it was rode off.”

  He peered through the last of the sun’s rays and saw no movement. Heard nothing. The surrounding area was quiet, and he was fairly certain the shooter was gone. Still, it didn’t steady his stuttering heartbeat. “You shouldn’t have come out here.”

  “I had to.” Her eyes, stormy with worry, searched his. “I knew there was a possibility you could get hurt if we were somewhere together, but I never thought they would target you.”

  Distracted by the agony clawing through his arm, Gideon hadn’t gotten that far in his mind yet, but she was right.

  A look of horror crossed her face. “They tried to kill you because we’re married.”

  * * *

  Ivy didn’t think she took a full breath until the front door was closed and Gideon was seated at the dining table. Leaving the shade down, she moved the lamp in the center of the table toward him.

  He had a hand clamped to his upper left arm. Blood covered his fingers and soaked the sleeve of his gray work shirt.

  Her hands were trembling as she reached for him. She gently plucked at the fabric stuck to his skin. “How bad is it?”

  “Not deep, but I think the bullet’s still in there.” His jaw worked.

  Ivy grimaced. “We should get you to the doctor.”

  “I can get it out.”

  “You? No!”

  “The slug has to come out.”

  He was in a lot of pain. Ivy licked her lips, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought of what she must do. “I’ll get it out.”

  Gideon must have noticed her hesitation because he said, “I can do it.”

  “No. I’ll do it.” It was the least she could offer after he’d come close to dying for her. She fought a surge of red-hot rage at whoever had done this.

  Her movements sharp and jerky, she gathered up a knife, a pair of pliers and scissors, two basins of water and several cloths. When she returned to the table, she pulled the lamp closer and turned up the flame.

  As she washed her hands and the tools, she stared at his arm. “Can you get out of your shirt, or should I cut it off?”

  He glanced down at the red-stained sleeve. Blood spattered his shirtfront, too. “Do you think you can get the blood out?”

  “Probably not all of it.”

  “Just cut it off, then.”

  Dragging in a deep, calming breath, she ripped his sleeve where the slug had torn a hole, then snipped off the whole thing. She grimaced as she got her first full look at the ragged hole in his flesh.

  Blood streaked his arm, stained his fingers and hands. Thank goodness he’d turned back toward the house. She reached for a cloth and wet it, her fury bubbling up again. Why hadn’t she agreed to go to the river for a picnic?

  “Ivy, are you okay to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  He set a hand on her waist until she looked at him. “You’re angry.”

  She searched his eyes for blame, resentment, but she found none. “I thought this was all about me, but they hurt you this time.”

  “That tells me that whoever is behind your troubles is after something besides you.”

  “The farm?”

  “Yes.” Pain etched his features. His skin was waxy, sweat beading on his forehead.

  Here he was, reassuring her when he was the one who needed help. “I’m sorry. We can talk about this later.”

  Trying to steady her hands, she cleaned the wound as gently as she could. Finally, she saw the bullet. Gideon was right. It wasn’t very deep, and luckily it hadn’t hit any bone, but she would still have to dig it out.

  Picking up the pliers, she stared down at the ragged hole, steeling herself. She didn’t want to hurt him, but this was going to hurt like the devil.

  She grimaced. “I don’t have any laudanum or liquor. Do you?”

  His eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t be any more surprised at her question than she was. “You said you don’t hold with drinking.”

  “I don’t, but you need something to dull the pain. Alcohol could help, and I don’t have a
drop.”

  “Neither do I.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Ivy.” At his labored tone, she met his gaze. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s going to hurt.”

  “There’s no help for that. Do what you need to. I’ll stay still.”

  “All right.” The sooner she got this done, the better.

  Fresh blood seeped out of the wound. Pliers in hand, she took a deep breath and shakily reached in for the bullet.

  The muscles in his arm rippled and veins stood out in his neck, but he didn’t move. Ivy worked as quickly as she could.

  His upper arm was just like the rest of him—hard, solid muscle. Though she gripped the lead ball on her first try, the tool was slick with blood and the bullet slipped out.

  Gideon made a noise deep in his throat, and she knew he must be in agony. Sweat trickled down his temple. His free hand gripped the table so forcefully that his knuckles were white.

  She tried not to tremble. After what seemed much too long, she worked the lead out then cleaned the wound again and pressed a clean cloth firmly against it. “Hold that tight.”

  He did, panting slightly. His dark hair stuck damply to his forehead.

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “The hole isn’t too deep.”

  “Do you think I need stitches?”

  Oh, she hoped not. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her composure.

  He lifted the soiled rag and studied the tear in his flesh.

  “Do you think I should stitch you up?”

  “If I say yes, are you going to faint?”

  “No,” she huffed, relaxing when she saw he was teasing her. “I think I’ve done a pretty good job so far.”

  “You have.” His lopsided grin belied the shadows of pain in his eyes. “I don’t think I need to be stitched up.”

  “All right. Until the bleeding slows more, I don’t want to bandage you.”

  Taking another clean cloth, she handed it to him, and he held the pad firmly against the wound. She carried the basin of red-tinted water down the hall and dumped it out the back door. When she returned, she gathered the items she’d used and began to wash them.

  She glanced over to find him watching her intently. Sensation fluttered low in her belly. “Do you need anything?”

  He shook his head, his gaze warm on her. “Our conversation was interrupted.”

  “Forevermore, Gideon!” Her head jerked around. “You don’t have to tell me now!”

  She hadn’t really expected him to share, much less bring it up himself.

  “It was right after the war.” His voice was low and gravelly. “Her name was Eleanor.”

  Ivy went still. He had killed another man over a woman? She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear more.

  “I was courting her. Or thought I was.”

  Turning to tell him to stop, she saw his face, taut with agony as he stared at a spot on the floor. Ivy realized he was talking to distract himself from the pain.

  “Her daddy owned a big spread in Kansas, and I worked for him.” He gave a grim smile. “She said I ‘rescued’ her from her previous beau.”

  Laying the wet tools on a dry cloth, Ivy used another to dry her hands.

  “We were supposed to go for a buggy ride one night, but she said she didn’t feel well.”

  Ivy walked over to him and carefully exchanged the bloodied pad for a clean one.

  He pressed it to the wound, and she slowly pulled away.

  “After taking care of some business in town for her father, I came upon her and her old beau just outside of town. Just as I rode up, he hit her. Backhanded her so hard she stumbled. I didn’t think. I just jumped off my horse and punched him. We fought until he went down. When I turned around to check on Eleanor, she came at me, clawing and hitting.”

  Ivy drew in a sharp breath, easing down onto the edge of the table.

  “I managed to get her off of me, then Doyle hit me from behind with a whiskey bottle.”

  “Is that how you got the scar on your jaw?”

  “Yeah. He tried to hit me twice, but I shot him. Killed him.”

  “Good,” she said vehemently. “But it was self-defense. Why were you sent to prison?”

  “Eleanor wouldn’t back my story.”

  “You were trying to help her!”

  “She was enraged that I’d interfered.”

  “Stupid woman! You might have saved her life.”

  “She told the sheriff I’d been ‘taking liberties,’ and when Doyle tried to defend her, I shot him. So I was arrested.”

  Ivy fought the urge to stroke his hair. “Did you get a trial?”

  “Yes, but it didn’t matter. Nobody was going up against Eleanor’s daddy or Doyle’s. Between the two of them, they owned everything in town.”

  She checked his wound, glad to see the bleeding had slowed. Cutting a cloth into strips, she folded one length into a thick pad. “So you were sent to prison.”

  “The judge thought their story was suspect, but he had no proof. He sentenced me on a lesser charge, though I still had to do time at Leavenworth.” He shifted in the chair as she laid the bandage against his wound then began wrapping the longer piece around his upper arm. “Now you know every last thing about me.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “I said I would.”

  She kind of wished he hadn’t. If he hadn’t shared that part of his history, it would’ve confirmed her belief that he wasn’t showing her his whole self, that there were parts of himself he was hiding. Instead, he seemed willing to let her know everything.

  “And because I’d like to stay.”

  Aware of how long he had wanted his own place, she had expected that. What she hadn’t expected was the pleasure that spread through her at his words. Tying off the end of the dressing, she surveyed her work. “As my partner.”

  “As your husband.”

  “But...I don’t want a husband.” She stood, her fingers tangling in her skirts. “That’s why we shouldn’t make love again. It will only complicate our arrangement.”

  Gideon snorted. “We already complicated it. We complicated the hell out of it last night.”

  “That was just one time. It was a mistake.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” He reached up, skimming his thumb along her lower lip. “Can you forget about it? I can’t. I won’t.”

  “We should.” A blush heated her cheeks.

  He spoke carefully, calmly. “I told you I won’t do anything against your wishes, but I want more from this marriage and I think you do, too.”

  “What if I don’t change my mind? What if I’m never ready?”

  “Just say you’ll think about it.”

  She didn’t refuse, although the word was on the tip of her tongue.

  He was slowly, steadily chipping away her resolve to stick to their arrangement.

  * * *

  At first, Ivy was too wound up over Gideon’s being shot to think much about him staying as her husband.

  The image of that bullet hitting him was seared into her brain, and her stomach was still queasy. She hadn’t wasted her breath trying to get him to leave; she knew he wouldn’t go.

  After cleaning everything up, they went to the woods to look for signs of the shooter. Sure enough, the branch Gideon had arranged was broken and there were clear boot prints, as well. But they still didn’t have any idea who they belonged to.

  Even though there had been no more trouble, Ivy didn’t sleep well. Her mind began to churn with thoughts of the shooting and Gideon’s desire to make their marriage permanent. Unable to bear the idea of him lying on the floor with his injury, she insisted he take a bed in one of the guest rooms. He had finally given in and agreed, though he
didn’t like the idea of the front room separating them.

  She lay in bed, restless, finally getting up to check on him. Relieved when she saw he wasn’t bleeding, she stood beside his bed for a few moments.

  The moonlight washed silver over the lines lashing his torso. Last night when she’d first seen them, she’d wanted to cry, but she hadn’t. He would have hated that. And the truth was, once he touched her, she hadn’t thought about them. They were just another part of him, like his blue eyes and dark hair.

  Remembering how Gideon had made her feel last night, the expression on his face when he’d been deep inside her, she’d been afraid she might be falling in love with him. The memory sent her back to her room.

  The next morning after she’d changed his dressing and they’d had breakfast, she began preparing lunch for the few stage passengers they might have today. She put a pot of beans on the stove then mixed up filling for a pecan pie.

  She slid the dessert into the stove. Hearing Gideon whistle for Thunder, she went to the front window. The sling she’d fashioned for his left arm fit snugly. As he checked the corral posts for damage from the horses’ panic, his tan work shirt stretched across his massive shoulders. Shoulders that she had touched and kissed. Just as she had touched and kissed the rest of him.

  There was no denying she wanted the man or that his lovemaking made her feel things she never had. Even though the urge to give herself over to that was staggering, she couldn’t let their intimacy cloud her judgment.

  Turning away from the window, she checked the beans and added bits of ham. He’d been right. She did want more from their marriage. But she knew how deceptive that thinking could be. She’d learned that from Tom.

  What she felt for Gideon wasn’t love. It was a combination of gratitude, affection and attraction. She needed to listen to her head, not her heart. Gideon didn’t make it easy on her, though.

  Like yesterday, when he had tried repeatedly to help her. He was always willing to lend a hand. And it had been so sweet of him to suggest a picnic, though she’d rejected that offer, too.

  The reason she’d said no wasn’t because she was worried he might try to get her out of her clothes, but because she wanted to get him out of his! She’d never fancied such a thing in her life.