The Courting of Widow Shaw

by Charlene Sands

  The ride was exactly what she needed. Doubts washed away and her head cleared of all pensive thoughts as they rode at a gallop, giving the horses a much-needed workout. Exhilarated from the refreshing air, the agile horse and the man beside her, Glory didn’t want the ride to end.

  When they returned to the ranch, Steven unsaddled Black Cloud first. The horse snickered and pranced, sidestepping and pulling at the lead rein Steven held in his hand. Black Cloud snorted and Steven tried to soothe him. “Whoa, there, boy. Calm down.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Glory asked.

  Steven opened the corral gate with a quick shove and pulled on the horse’s rein, until the reluctant stallion finally entered the corral. “He’s not cooperating. Seems he needs a lady tonight.” Steven took off the bridle, then stroked the horse’s snout, whispering to him.

  Nutmeg pranced over to the corral gate and whinnied, showing interest in the stallion.

  “They’ve been dancing around each other all night. Better dismount, Glory.”

  Steven closed the corral gate and walked over to help her down, reaching for her waist. He smiled when her feet hit the ground. “Looks like Nutmeg is going to be bunking in Black Cloud’s corral tonight. And with any luck, I’ll have another foal before long.”

  Glory smiled back, feeling more alive and free than she’d had in weeks. “Is that all it takes?” she breathed out.

  Steven’s smile widened. With a finger he shoved his hat a bit higher on his forehead. “Well now, it’s a mite more complicated than that.” He stared into her eyes for a moment piercing her with a beckoning look, one filled with many possibilities.

  A minute later, Steven freed Nutmeg of her saddle and bridle and led her into Black Cloud’s pen. Closing the gate, Steven leaned against the fence, peering at his two new acquisitions.

  Glory sidled up beside him. She wasn’t ready to say good night or go back into the confines of the house, the moonlit ride had sparked all of her senses. She stretched her arms along the corral fence, bracketing her boots up on the lowest rail, lifting her a good ten inches from the ground. From that point, she gazed at the two horses, seeing them as a part of Steven’s future.

  Steven noted her position and came to stand behind her, his body pressed close, with his hands wrapped loosely around her waist, bracing her from falling.

  “He’s a bit of a devil, tonight.”

  “I can see that,” Glory said, keeping her gaze trained on the horses teasing and tempting each other. They played a game of chasing, confronting, then chasing again, all around the corral pen, their snorts of lust and desire not to be missed.

  “It’s been said all true thoroughbreds can be traced back to three horses. Their line is that pure. They were brought to Europe almost two hundred years ago. They don’t come any faster or finer.” Steven spoke with pride, sharing his knowledge. “The quarter horses are fastest in the quarter mile, that’s how they came by their name.”

  Glory continued to stare at Black Cloud. He skirted the perimeter of the corral, pursuing his female. The mare led him on a merry chase.

  “He’s got only one thing on his mind,” Steven offered in a slow lazy drawl.

  Glory dug her teeth into her bottom lip. Steven’s warm breath in her ear caused a commotion to her insides.

  “Stallions get a bit crazed around a female. They’re meant to breed, and Black Cloud’s been restless all day. What he wants is right in front of him. He has only to take it.”

  Steven tightened his arm about her waist.

  “What about her, does she get…” Glory took a swallow, embarrassed at what she was about to ask. “Does she want the same thing?”

  “See how she’s prancing around him? She’s spreading her scent and Black Cloud…can’t stay away.”

  Steven’s voice, low and husky in her ear, caused goose pimples to rise along her arm. She shuddered, a slight little tremble that rocked her whole body.

  “Are you cold?” Steven asked, the granite wall of his chest bracing her from the back. He wrapped her cape tighter around her, but it was the heat of his powerful arms holding her, that made her, hot…and tingly.

  Glory didn’t grant him a reply. She couldn’t speak. Not now. She watched Black Cloud circle his mate, snorting, his sleek body primed and ready. The mare watched him intently, rooted to the spot. Glory couldn’t move, either.

  She felt her defenses crumble, being in Steven’s arms, allowing him to hold her, together, watching this mating ritual. She knew she should turn and leave but her gaze fixed on the horses, mesmerized, and her heart pumped double time.

  “You know what they’re going to do now, Glory?” Steven asked softly.

  “Yes,” she admitted. She knew about mating, but her own experiences hadn’t been pleasurable. They had only caused her anguish and sorrow. She swallowed down, feeling Steven’s solid body up against her, his hot breath inflaming her senses.

  Steven’s lips caressed her temple. “Do you want to go inside?”

  “No,” she answered with honesty. She didn’t want to be anywhere but here, in Steven’s arms.

  Steven nuzzled her neck, but Glory only felt his hot hard manhood pressing against her from behind.

  “Now,” he said devilishly, “Black Cloud gets what he’s waited so long for.” Steven inched his fingers up, leaving her waist to probe the sensitive skin under her breasts. She’d given him free access to her throat and he planted tiny kisses there, moistening her neck with his tongue. Shivers of delight spiraled up her spine and she ached for him to touch more of her.

  “So damn sweet,” he whispered, kissing her chin, the path of her jawline, her temple.

  Glory heard the mare whinny, and she glanced over. Black Cloud had mounted his mate, his ebony coat gleaming like black onyx. The mare struggled, but the male continued his pursuit until finally they had joined.

  “Is he hurting her?” she asked, voicing her concern in a raspy whisper.

  “No, sweetheart. It’s natural, the way God intended.”

  “It doesn’t look natural.” And Glory knew the falsity of her words. It was the Lord’s way. Procreation. Yet Glory had to turn away, unable to watch any longer, unable to see the mare dominated by the stallion.

  Memories flooded in, of Boone, and the way he’d taken her roughly, with no regard to her feelings, her own wants and desires. There had been nothing natural in their joining, nothing pleasurable. Glory had thought to be a dutiful wife she must endure the act of lovemaking without complaint. She’d never known a moment of delight or joy, yet she’d never thought it a woman’s right.

  “Glory,” Steven said, the anger in his voice tempered with restraint. “Did Boone hurt you?”

  Glory squeezed her eyes closed. She couldn’t discuss this with Steven. She couldn’t bring herself to answer his probing question. What good would it do to bring to light her failures and disappointments? She couldn’t change anything. It would be better to put it out of her mind. Much, much better.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered, and judging from Steven’s long labored sigh, she knew he’d heard the answer with her unspoken words.

  Glory moved away from Steven, jumping down from the fence, confused by her own desires, unable to banish the memories of being with a careless, inconsiderate man. She headed for the house.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way, Glory.”

  Steven’s firm resolution put a halt to her steps. She peered at the ground, wondering if she misunderstood.

  Steven came up behind her. He didn’t touch her, but only whispered so softly that the words nearly drifted away in the night air. “Making love can be tender and gentle. Something to cherish.”

  She shook her head, because she’d never known lovemaking to be that way. She’d never had any comparisons, any way to trust in what Steven declared. Nothing in her life had turned out as she’d hoped. She’d lost almost everything of importance, but most of all, she’d lost her ability to trust. Her faith had been
all but shattered.

  Steven came to stand in front of her, his dark eyes filled with understanding. He reached out to caress her cheek, his finger gently stroking her skin. “You should know that kind of tenderness.”

  Glory looked into Steven’s eyes, searching his face for the truth. This man, who had saved her life and then shown her nothing but compassion and patience, was the last man on earth she should have dealings with. He’d been the enemy in her mind for so long and yet he’d become so much more to her. Steven Harding had become her savior—a devilishly handsome man who’d protected her, ready to give up his own safety for the sake of hers. “I hated you, Steven,” she said quietly, with regret and reproach.

  Steven’s lips curled up. “I know.” He bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers lightly. The kiss had been quick and soft. “But I don’t believe you hate me now.”

  Heat flamed her face. Mercy, she didn’t know what she felt for Steven Harding. She wanted to blame and resent him. She’d lashed out at him, accused him, been a thorn in his side whenever she could, foolishly believing her actions would ease her pain in some small way.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her carefully, like one would a delicate budding rose. “I want you, Glory. I have for a long time.”

  She heard the soft whinny of the mare and the stallion’s snort as their hooves beat at the ground. Steven’s words when he’d spoken of Black Cloud, echoed in her head. “And if I agree, you’ll take what you’ve waited so long for?”

  His eyes bored into her and he shook his head. “No, sweetheart. I’ll give to you and you’ll give to me and we’ll take whatever pleasure there is together.”

  Glory’s heart lurched. If only that were true. If only she could believe him. Indecision waged a battle in her head.

  “Let me show you, Glory,” Steven offered, his voice silky with persuasion. He kissed her again, just as gently as before, his lips a combination of teasing torture and sweet regard. “Let me show you the tender side of loving.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Steven cursed under his breath when a fiery ash swirled up to burn his hand. He poked a stick into the fire in the parlor’s hearth and flames ignited, brightening the darkened room, lending a measure of warmth. The night air had chilled considerably, bringing a draft into the house. For Glory’s sake, he’d built the fire.

  He didn’t need the extra heat. His body still hadn’t cooled from his exchange with Glory earlier. He’d offered her all that he could, all that he had to give, but it hadn’t been enough.

  Glory still didn’t trust him. She’d been scarred by the brutality of a man who should have protected and loved her, but until this night Steven hadn’t realized to what grave extent. He’d witnessed fear and misgiving, her emotions evident on her face and in the light that had vanished from her eyes. Steven hadn’t pressed her, hadn’t tried to seduce her to his will.

  That’s not the way he wanted Glory. The decision was solely hers to make and he’d told her that very thing. While his body ached painfully and his heart nearly crumbled, he had stood firm. “I won’t press you,” he’d told her, “but I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

  Glory had gone to sleep a short time ago. He knew the exact moment when she’d lowered the lantern and climbed into bed. She creaked the door open once, giving Steven a smidgen of hope, but it was only to invite Buddy inside.

  Steven had worries about Glory and his own fears came to light. Had Glory’s uncertainty tonight been tied directly to him? Did she still see him as the enemy? He held no hope of a future with her. She’d never compromise her belief that a life with him meant a deep and perhaps lasting betrayal to her father. But he’d wanted to give her one night. He’d wanted to make tender, sweet, slow love to her. He wanted to help erase that part of her memory that held her hostage to help her heal.

  And selfishly, he admitted, he wanted to experience the joy and beauty of their joining, at least once.

  Steven straightened, lifting up from the hearth, too perplexed to sleep, his body still wrought with desire.

  He sat down on the sofa, stretched out his legs and contemplated Boone Shaw’s death. He had to clear Glory’s name. He had to prove her innocence. He owed Glory that much, then she’d be free.

  It was the only way either of them would find any peace.

  Through the kitchen window Glory watched Steven up on the ladder, hammering in long planks on the roof of the barn. The morning sun beat down with ferocity, bronzing his face to a golden hue, with little regard to the hat perched atop his head. She stifled a gasp when his hammer missed its mark, pounding his hand instead. He’d let out a loud curse and his expression, even from this distance, appeared more than grim.

  He’d been keeping busy these last three days, building kitchen cabinets, completing the barn, grooming his horses, and for the most part, ignoring her.

  He rose early, often refusing breakfast and grabbing only a biscuit or two to take with him outside. He worked from dawn to dusk, it seemed, and by the time he came in for supper, he’d been too tuckered out from exertion to pay her any mind.

  They’d spoken little since that night with the horses, but whenever Steven did address her, he’d been friendly and kind. Glory wondered if she’d overstayed her welcome. She wondered if he wanted her gone from the ranch. Nothing in his manner pointed to it, but Glory’s gut told her Steven had something on his mind.

  So when he entered the kitchen later that morning, surprise registered. She couldn’t quite keep her expression steady. “Oh. Hello.”

  Grabbing a cloth, she wiped cherry stains off her hands. She’d woken up determined to put a smile on Steven’s face today, hoping that cherry cobbler, made from dried cherries she’d found in the newly-dug-out root cellar, would see to that.

  When he noted her creation, he cocked his head and cast her half a smile. “I love cherry cobbler.”

  “It’ll be ready by supper.”

  “I hope to be back by then.”

  “Are you leaving?” Glory asked, tamping down her alarm. He hadn’t made mention of going anywhere, but then, he hadn’t been confiding in her lately.

  “I have to make a trip into town. Is there anything you need?”

  “Oh.” Glory darted glances around the room. Steven had the kitchen well stocked. She couldn’t think of one thing that she needed. “No, not this time. Will you be stopping by Rainbow House?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it. But if you need something from there, I can—”

  “No, it’s not necessary,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “I wondered if there was news of Merry…and the other girls.”

  “I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.”

  “Are you picking up suppl—?” Glory began, then noticed his bruised hand. “Oh!” She stepped closer and reached out to lift his hand carefully. “You’re injured.”

  Steven glanced at their joined hands. “Stupid of me. Takes a fool to hammer his own hand.”

  Glory stood there, with his hand in hers. This was the closest she’d been to him in days. She felt his perusal, his dark eyes roving over her, and tingles of awareness shot straight through her. His breath touched her cheeks as he continued to gaze at her. Glory’s senses awakened fully. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “It needs tending. Let me wash it and wrap it with a cloth.”

  She made a move toward the water pitcher on the table, but Steven reached out with his other hand, stopping her. “No need. I’ll be fine.”

  “But the hand is bruised so badly, it’s turning color. It must be painful. You won’t be able to hang on to the reins without it being wrapped.”

  Steven sighed. “If you insist.”

  “I insist,” Glory said, glad the stubborn man had given in. She led him over to the dry sink and poured from the pitcher, washing the hand gently. She took up a clean cloth and wound it around his hand with utmost care. “You know, you’re not such a good patient.”

  He grunted. “I’ve never ha
d anyone…” he began, then cleared his throat. “I’ve never needed to be any sort of patient.”

  Glory looked up from beneath her lashes. “It’s the least I can do. Heaven knows, you’ve tended me enough times. I can’t even begin to repay you.”

  Steven pulled his hand from hers and when she glanced up, his eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t want your gratitude, Glory.”

  Glory opened her mouth to speak. No words came out.

  “I have to go,” he said, quietly. “You keep that gun handy.”

  “I will.” But Steven didn’t hear her reply. He’d already departed out the back door.

  The wagon lurched, chugging up Six-Mile Canyon. It was an arduous road that led to Virginia City, the elevation a challenge even for a strong team of horses. But the vista more than made up for the tedious ride. Steven always loved the way the town nearly reached up to touch the white puff clouds, the sky seemingly more blue from up here. And the city itself, as he peered out from his vantage point, bustled with life, each long street slightly more elevated than the next, creating a town tiered in steps.

  Once he reached the heart of town, he left his horses and wagon at the livery, taking off on foot. And although there were only four churches of various denominations in Virginia City, there were more than six dozen saloons and gaming houses in the area. Steven hoped he’d get lucky today. He’d investigate the biggest and the best, hoping to catch sight of Ned Shaw. He didn’t know the man personally, but he’d seen him around town enough to recognize him. Steven had a gut feeling that Ned Shaw held answers to many questions. This time around Steven wanted to listen to what he had to say.

  He found him two hours and ten saloons later, in a small but extravagant Irish pub next to the Young America Fire Company. Steven ordered a drink and stood in the corner of the bar, hat riding low on his forehead as he pretended disinterest. Ned sat at a poker table, with his back to him, puffing on a cigar.