DESTINY'S EMBRACE

by Suzanne Elizabeth

His stomach spiraled and he gasped in shock.

  His horse stopped and sidestepped beneath him. He looked up and found himself in the Martins' front yard. And sitting on the porch swing, bundled in blankets against the cold, was the object of his anger and his desire.

  Amanda was right; it was time to stop fighting the current and plunge head first into the water.

  "What do you want?" Lacey demanded bitterly.

  For once, Matthew knew the answer to that question.

  Without a word, he swung down from his horse and strode up the steps to the porch.

  “I won’t apologize if that’s what you’re here for.”

  He reached down and pulled Lacey from the swing. Startled, she gasped and dropped her blanket.

  Before she could think to hit him, he pulled her in tight and stared down into her tawny eyes. He could feel the curves of her body through her dress. Heart racing, his attention fastened on her full lips.

  "What do you want?" she whispered.

  "I want you.”

  He covered her mouth with his.

  Chapter 15

  After breaking down like a five-year-old in front of Hazel and George, Lacey had been consoled—as if she'd deserved consoling—and tucked in on the front porch swing to take in some fresh air.

  A thousand nights of fresh mountain air couldn’t make her forget what a fool she'd just made of herself over a man she didn't even like.

  She'd spent the past twenty minutes trying to understand her actions and trying to reach her spiritual guide; maybe there was some way she could earn a second chance back in the twenty-first century. But she'd had no luck, in the form of insight or angels, and she'd found herself struggling with tears again.

  Then, suddenly, she’d looked up and found Matthew Brady sitting on his horse in the front yard.

  George had lit the lanterns on the porch for her before turning in for the night, and they'd illuminated the marshal's intense expression as he climbed the porch steps and headed toward her. She'd allowed him to yank her up from the porch swing, believing that she deserved his anger for what she'd done, but the last thing on earth she'd expected was for him to kiss her.

  Lacey didn't know what to do with her hands, or with her lips, for that matter. She was a little too stunned to react at first. Matthew had one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and one hand tangled securely in her hair—obviously intending to keep her in place until he was good and ready to let her go. For the moment, Lacey was perfectly happy to remain right where she was.

  The man was doing the most amazing things to her heart rate. Every slide of his lips, every tug with his teeth, every tantalizing plunge of his tongue into her mouth, made a whole new set of nerve endings fire in her body.

  He groaned deep in his throat as she started to respond to him. “That’s right,” he whispered against her lips. "Let me in, Lacey."

  Yes, let him in. All the way in, something within her whispered. Past the pain, and the sorrow, the bitterness and the hurt. Let him melt the ice surrounding your heart.

  But that ice was there for a reason, as a protective barrier against pain and loneliness, and Lacey had a strong instinct to guard it with every ounce of her will.

  But then Matthew was kissing her, pleading with her. With every ounce of potent male power at his disposal he was urging her to let go, to give in to him.

  Suddenly it wasn't hard at all for her to let her inhibitions slip away. She simply curved her hands around his neck, and melted into him.

  He let out a groan, moved closer, and a jolt of electricity shot through her like a bolt of lightning. She felt herself being lifted into his arms. He moved backward and sat down with her on the porch swing. She took a chance and touched his tongue with hers, and he pulled in a sharp breath and yanked her closer. Their kissing took on a whole new urgency.

  His lips left her mouth and scorched a path to her jaw. She bit her lip and felt her stomach leap as he licked her ear and sent her senses reeling.

  "This is insane," she whispered as he kissed the base of her throat.

  "Completely crazy,” he agreed.

  A throat cleared loudly from the doorway. “I think it's about time you were headed home now, Matthew.”

  Lacey pulled back from Matthew's hungry lips and looked over her shoulder. George Martin, bless his understanding soul, hadn't come outside. He was talking to them through the screen, standing at an angle where he couldn't see the scene being played out on his porch.

  Lacey turned back to the man in front of her—around her, beneath her—and their eyes met. His gaze dipped to her mouth, and for a moment Lacey thought he might start kissing her again, George be damned. But then he slowly stood, and set her back on her feet.

  "See ya inside, Lacey," George called. She heard the thud of the wooden door closing tight.

  Matthew straightened the front of her dress. He was lingering over the task. "You'll be having dinner at my place tomorrow night," he told her.

  She nodded, breathless and not about to argue.

  With that, he crossed the porch, climbed up onto his horse, and rode off into the night.

  "Sir, we have a serious problem."

  "What is it now, Nelson?"

  "The woman has turned wanton.”

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Stella stood in the department head’s office, laughing and clapping her hands. “They’ve kissed, sir. Isn't it wonderful?!”

  "In the vast bank of human rhetoric," Nelson commented dryly, "wonderful is not exactly the word that leaps to mind."

  "Do you think it wise to be leaping into something so shallow?" Stella remarked.

  Nelson jutted his square, dimpled chin in the air and continued, "Amanda Simmons's guide is in a complete state of pandemonium."

  Stella sighed and gave Maximillian an impatient look. "Amanda Simmons was never meant to live her life with Matthew Brady. Her guide was well aware of that fact."

  “Perhaps you should tell her that, then? She is on the verge of resigning. The whole situation is a mess, to say the very least."

  "Which you never seem to do," Stella grumbled.

  Maximillian was scowling, and Stella was beginning to lose patience with both of them. She was certainly doing the best she could—and her client happened to be coming along very nicely.

  "Stella? Explain this situation.”

  “Sir, they've finally discovered each other—"

  "They've discovered each other's physical attractiveness," Nelson cut in. "A basic human proclivity. Nothing more."

  "She's allowed him to reach her like no one ever has!”

  "I'd say she's allowed him to do a whole lot more than that," Nelson remarked.

  Stella gritted her teeth and turned to the disputer. "If you interrupt me one more time I'm going to give you another dimple right between your eyes."

  Nelson sobered. "You see there, sir? The dreadful woman is even rubbing off on Stella. I insist that you remove her from the nineteenth century immediately and toss her back into prison where she belongs."

  "And what would that solve?" Stella demanded. "Mr. Brady would lose his job, Miss Simmons would still be single, and I'd still think you were a pompous windbag."

  Nelson's eyes bugged. He opened his mouth to speak, but this time Stella held up her hand and stopped him. "Not another word until I have said my piece," she stated. "Sir, Miss Guarder's soul has been enriched by leaps and bounds in the past few days. She has discovered compassion, faithfulness, loyalty, and, I'm suspecting, love. She is on the verge of becoming all that she was meant to be!”

  "She will not be removed," Maximillian answered.

  Nelson cut loose with an impatient sigh.

  "However,” Maximillian continued, “what has been done by your client, must be undone, Stella.”

  "It can't be undone, sir," Nelson spoke up. "Miss Simmons’ history with men has been hapless to say the least, and now, because of Miss Guarder's lasciviousness, the poor woman may never find a proper mate.�
��

  “Maybe if she grew a backbone…” Stella remarked.

  “Your client’s actions have caused Miss Simmons to question her own lovability,” Nelson accused.

  “Perhaps if Miss Guarder apologized to the woman,” Maximillian replied.

  Nelson broke into laughter, and Stella pursed her lips in irritation. "Sir," Nelson said, "Miss Guarder wouldn't know an apology if it climbed up her leg and bit her on the—"

  "Your point is made, Nelson,” Maximillian interrupted. "Stella. What do you think about this?"

  “I’m sure an apology can be arranged."

  "Oh, no," Nelson interjected. "Not arranged. Sir, remorse is something everyone must feel in order to grow spiritually. If Miss Guarder is to apologize, she must do so because she feels compelled to, not because her guardian has instructed her to do so. Miss Guarder must apologize of her own free will." He broke into a tight, smug smile. "From the depths of her own sweet little heart."

  Stella glowered at the man.

  Maximillian leaned back in his chair and considered Nelson's words. "Stella, you've said yourself that your client has grown a great deal since her arrival in the nineteenth century. Eventually everyone's morality is put to the test. This seems to be the perfect opportunity to evaluate Miss Guarder's."

  "She will succeed, sir," Stella stated confidently. More confidently than she felt.

  "I hope so," Maximillian replied. "I would hate to see this woman become a blot on your record that might force me to reevaluate your promotion."

  "I understand," Stella confirmed. She crossed her fingers and hoped with all the stars in the heavens that Lacey Guarder would not let her down.

  Chapter 16

  Lacey had never set foot in a church in her life.

  She kept a watchful eye on the thick-beamed ceiling as she followed George and Hazel inside the one-room chapel. It was quickly evident, based on the world map and chalkboard hanging on the wall behind the pulpit, that the building doubled as a schoolhouse.

  The place was packed with lumberjacks.

  Hazel explained that the saloon and brothel were closed on Sundays, giving the local men no other social activity except church. As a result, the burly men all sat at the back of the room, slumped low in their seats like children forced to attend against their will. They all perked up when Lacey walked in. They whistled and called out her name, waggling their fingers to catch her eye. Not wanting another incident like before, Lacey did her best to ignore them.

  "Lacey!" Nettie O'Rourke hurried toward her down the center aisle, her blue eyes sparkling. "Thank the stars yer all right. I heard what happened to ya yesterday." She frowned with concern. "How're ya feelin'?"

  Lacey gave the woman a painful smile, hoping she wasn't in for another hug. "I'm still a little numb here and there, but otherwise—"

  And then Nettie took her firmly by the shoulders. "I want ya to know…that I don't believe a word of it."

  Lacey stepped back from Nettie's firm grip. "A word of what?"

  Hazel crossed her arms. “What're you jabberin' on about, Nettie?"

  Nettie glanced around to be sure no one else was listening. "Rumor has it," she whispered in her soft Irish lilt, "Lacey and Marshal Matt got ta know each other in the…conjugal sense yesterday."

  George scowled.

  Lacey closed her eyes as a hot feeling of embarrassment surged through her. She was going to skin those deputies alive.

  Hazel gasped. She threw her arm around Lacey's shoulders and pulled her to her side. "This young lady was at death's door yesterday mornin'," she said loudly enough for the entire room to hear. "And our marshal risked life and limb to pull her out of that lake. If I hear a single word said to slander either one of 'em, I'll be servin' prune pie to the whole town come mornin'."

  "And they'll be tastin' the unfriendly end of my shotgun," George added.

  Lacey was grateful for their support. Even if she didn't deserve it.

  Nettie lifted her chin. “As I said, I don’t believe the rumors—”

  "What rumors?"

  They all turned to find Matthew standing behind them. Lacey’s heart skipped at the sight of him. He was dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt, and had a black string tie around his collar. She would have smiled and said hello but her mouth had gone dry the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

  "The ones flyin' around about you and Lacey," Nettie answered.

  “Nettie O'Rourke,” Hazel warned, “I’ll not hear another word about this.”

  George cleared his throat. "While you hens are fillin' in the rooster, I'm gonna go hunt us up some seats or we’ll wind up sittin’ in the back with the sawdust gang."

  George walked off and Matthew gave Lacey a questioning look. “What’s this about?”

  “Take a guess,” she answered.

  His jaw clenched and took a quick glance around the room, probably searching for his three deputies. Lucky for the men, none of them were in the church.

  "And how does she feel about you two?” Nettie asked.

  Lacey followed Nettie’s gaze and saw Amanda Simmons standing within a burst of golden sunlight in the doorway. The woman looked like an angel in her prim hat and proper coat.

  Without a word, Matthew turned on his heel and hurried toward her. Lacey gritted her teeth, longing to rip every perfect little hair out of Amanda Simmons's perfect little head.

  Organ music started up, sending a hushed quiet through the small building, and Nettie hurried toward the front pew.

  "Come along, Lacey.” Hazel led the way to where George was seated and they both sat down with him.

  With rumors about them swirling and Matthew paying court to Amanda, Lacey’s nerves were pulled string tight. She glanced past Hazel at George, wondering what he thought of it all, and he gave her a fatherly wink. She took a deep breath and settled back onto the pew. She was safe with the Martins. They were like the family she’d never had.

  She took off her coat and folded it into her lap. If Matthew wanted to be with perfect Amanda than so be it. She didn’t need a man—never had. So what if he could kiss her stupid?

  She was still stewing when the man himself walked up and sat down beside her. She refused to look at him, choosing instead to focus on the tall young man stepping up to the pulpit in front of her. Reverend O’Rourke was a handsome man. She wondered if he was single…

  "Good mornin', ladies and gentlemen," the reverend called out in his Irish lilt.

  "Good morning, Reverend O'Rourke," the crowd replied in unison.

  "Let us greet the Lord in a moment of prayer."

  Lacey bowed her head, but instead of closing her eyes, she angled them toward Matthew Brady. His shirt was pulled tight over his muscular chest and she noticed how the fabric strained at his arms…arms that had been wrapped tightly around her the night before as he’d kissed her passionately under a winter moon. She suddenly wondered if he ever kissed Amanda that way and her heart sank to her toes.

  The prayer ended and she lifted her head. Who cares what he’s done with Amanda, she told herself. This thing between them was nothing more than a fleeting attraction. Once the money was found, she’d be heading to California and leaving Matthew Brady behind.

  She straightened her shoulders and tried to focus on the sermon.

  “I’m reminded of a verse in James…” the reverend was saying.

  Matthew Brady leaned close to her, brushing up against her arm. “Amanda sends her regards," he whispered.

  Lacey stuck her nose in the air. “I am trying to listen to the sermon.”

  “You're not supposed to listen. You're supposed to fall asleep."

  She ignored him.

  “I’m looking forward to tonight.”

  Good Lord, she’d agreed to have dinner with him. Suddenly that didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “Five o’clock.”

  “Would you be quiet?" she hissed at him.

  Hazel glanced their way. Lacey gave her a hesitant smile and th
en scooted closer to her, hoping Matthew would stop whispering to her. But her skirt was caught beneath him. "You're on my dress," she said to him, keeping her eyes on the pulpit.

  Instead of moving away, he scooted closer until their knees were touching.

  She glared at him. He smiled back.

  “Confess your faults one to another…” the reverend was continuing.

  “We’re still on for tonight, right?” he asked.

  “…Forgive as the Lord forgave you…”

  “We can pick up where we left off.”

  Lacey felt a hot blush burn her cheeks. She reached over and pinched the marshal on the leg.

  "Ow," he whispered, chuckling softly.

  Having Matthew Brady sitting beside her for almost an hour made Lacey long for the chilly morning air. The moment the sermon was over, she hurried outside into the bright sunlight. She squinted into the glare and buttoned the front of her coat against the wind.

  A soft voice called out her name and she turned to see Amanda Simmons coming toward her. Lacey considered walking away, pretending as if she hadn't heard her, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she turned and waited as Amanda approached, wondering if the two of them were about to go several rounds in the church parking lot.

  “That was an invigorating sermon,” Amanda said. “It felt like the reverend was preaching directly to me.”

  Lacey had found the message more unsettling than enlightening. Too much talk about forgiving people who’d treated you badly.

  “I…I wanted to wish you the best with Matthew."

  Lacey blinked. "Excuse me?" That had been the last thing she’d expected to hear.

  “He and I had a long talk about you last night."

  “You did?”

  Amanda frowned, puckering the perfect angle of her golden eyebrows. "He told me before the service that he saw you again last night. Didn't he talk with you about any of this?"

  He'd hardly had the opportunity to say a word. "It didn't come up."

  "Well, that silly man. Did he even bother to tell you that he and I have decided to end our…understanding and remain friends."