Gerrity'S Bride (18 page)

“Manners are never to be discarded, no matter where we are,” Olivia reminded the child firmly.

Emmaline bit at her lip for a moment, but the words would not be withheld. “I think we might understand if Tessie is excused her table manners, just for this once. It’s a special occasion, after all.”

Olivia bowed her head in acquiescence. “I’m sure you know best, Mrs. Gerrity.”

“I gotta go,” Tessie said quickly, shooting a quick grin at her sister before she scampered away, chicken leg in hand.

Olivia was silent for a moment, contemplating Tessie as she skipped through the yard. “That child would have done well with a mother,” she said quietly.

Emmaline’s mouth dropped open, her face a study in stunned surprise. “She has me,” she said finally.

Olivia waved her hand dismissively. “A real family would have been ideal. Theresa requires a firm hand.”

“Did you have anyone in mind?” Emmaline’s query was quiet.

Again Olivia’s hand dismissed the other woman’s words. “It’s too late now, anyway,” she said. “And, after all, I’m only the teacher.”

Emmaline was stunned, her eyes round with surprise, as she watched Olivia walk away. And then her gaze fell with relief upon the tall figure of Matt sauntering through the groups of people. As though he sensed her watching him, he turned his head in her direction and his mouth tilted in a secret smile that brushed her heart with a silent message. Halted by one person and then another, he nevertheless made his way to where she sat, his eyes focused upon her, homing in on the bright beauty that drew him like a candle flame in the night.

“Where’d Olivia get to?” he asked as he stooped beside her.

Emmaline shrugged and shook her head, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. “I don’t know.”

He sank to the ground with limber ease. “How’d you manage to get abandoned over here all by yourself?” he asked, settling next to her and reaching for the bread she’d shoved to one side of her plate. Picking up a slice of the beef she’d been given, he held it between two fingers, then placed it squarely atop the bread. He folded the whole thing in half, then took a bite.

“Umm...good,” he pronounced, relishing it with appetite.

“I’ll share with you,” she offered, motioning at her plate and handing him her fork.

He looked at her askance. “Aren’t you hungry, honey?”

She nodded quickly. “Of course! It’s just that I’m excited, and I’ve already eaten some....” She gestured at the plate.

“Hmm...not much, Emmie,” he noted. His eyes were keen as they swept over her face. “You all right?”

She looked up at his solemn face. “Olivia says Tessie needs a mother.” Her mouth tightened suddenly. “I don’t think she approves of me.”

“I’ll talk to her,” he said abruptly. “Guess I haven’t paid much attention to her lately. Maybe she’s gettin’ too big for her britches, sayin’ something like that to you.”

“No, don’t do that.” Emmaline shook her head. “I don’t think she meant anything. Except maybe she thought Deborah would have done better as your wife than me.”

Matt grunted disparagingly. “Not likely. Olivia hasn’t got the time of day for Deborah.”

“Maybe she had herself in mind,” Emmaline suggested quietly.

“Not on your life.” Matt’s words were loud and clear, and Emmaline shushed him quickly, vowing silently to put Olivia’s words out of her mind.

“How about another dance, Mrs. Gerrity?” Matt suggested, tugging her to her feet before she could protest. Hands clasped, they made their way to where the fiddles were playing a fast-moving tune, caught up in the music.

* * *

The sun had gone down in splendor and the shadows of evening had fallen when Emmaline sought the quiet of the house. Bending over the basin in the kitchen, she rinsed her face in cool water, drying her hands on the towel as she looked from the window. The night was dark, the sky scattered with clouds, with only a few stars peeking through to lend their light.

About the yard, shadowed figures moved in a silent dance of their own, silhouetted against the glow from the embers in the barbecue pit. The spit was gone, but several platters full of beef were left on the table, where muslin cloths draped the food to keep it clean.

Emmaline sighed deeply, aware of the quiet of the house about her, the music that the breeze carried to her ears and the occasional sounds of laughter from neighbors who walked about beneath the trees or sat on bales of hay within the barn.

“Where’s Emmaline?” she heard Matt ask from a distance, and then watched as he left the brightly lit barn to walk across the yard. Her face was wreathed in a smile at the sight of his long-legged, slim-hipped stroll, her eyes fixed on the lean strength of his body, shadowed in the light of the fire.

“Emmaline!” he called, facing the line of trees that bordered the long lane.

She went swiftly to the door and pushed it open, stepping onto the porch. He was walking away, and she moved quickly, wanting to catch him. Her mouth opened, the words that would call him to her on the tip of her tongue.

And then a silent figure hiding in the darkness next to the kitchen door moved.

One step brought the man close behind her. One rapid movement of his hand effectively halted her words. About her waist, his arm swept her from her feet, and she was carried around to the side of the house, gasping beneath the fingers that clutched with cruel strength against her mouth.

She kicked her feet wildly and squirmed against his side, hanging like a sheaf of new-mown hay, his arm solid about her middle. Wordlessly he made his way to the narrow line of brush beyond the house. His steps were long and swift, covering the ground quickly, and she dangled helplessly in his grasp.

Against the night, a horse waited, dimly visible as they approached. Its reins were looped over a branch on a scrubby short tree, and as they neared, the animal lifted his head and nickered softly.

“Listen, you stand up right in front of me and don’t make any trouble...hear?” The rough voice was close to her ear, and the words were hard and succinct.

Emmaline shuddered, the taste of salty, grimy flesh on her lips, the chill of fear slicing at her spine, and her legs trembled beneath her weight. She almost fell, but he caught her once more, handicapped by the need to keep her mouth covered.

“Damn, I said stand up,” he growled, and his hand on her shoulder tightened bruisingly. His other hand snaked to the saddle horn, where a rope hung. His fingers snagged it neatly.

Emmaline’s eyes widened above the hand that held her in a harsh grip, watching as he formed a loop in the rope and then passed it over her, binding her arms to her sides.

For just a moment, his hand moved, so that the rope could slip into place about her waist. And that moment was all she needed. Her lungs filled with air, precious, clean air. She screamed. Screamed while the anger of her captor washed over her in audible waves of vile curses. Screamed while he scrambled into his saddle and tugged at the rope that cinched her waist tightly. She was still screaming when he reached down to lift her into the saddle with him.

His arm was in front of her face, and she leaned into it, her mouth already open. Through the dark cotton of the shirt he wore, she chomped down, her teeth the only weapon she had.

It was all she needed. His howl of pain must have carried almost as far as her shrill cries had traveled. Her teeth held fast like a bulldog’s in a pit, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she hung on grimly. The horse was moving in short hops, snorting and tossing its head. She was hard-pressed to stay on her feet, dangling at the end of the rope her captor held.

“Damn fool woman,” he snarled finally as he heard the shouts from the back of the house. Letting loose of the rope, he swung his arm about, catching Emmaline with a solid fist against the side of her head.

“Emmaline...where the hell are you?”

It was Matt, Matt’s voice, coming from a distance.

“Here...I’m here, Matt...” The words were whispered as she fell. Then, against her face, the ground was cool and she felt the vibrations of the horse’s hooves.

“I bit him.” The words were a slurred whisper. “I bit him.” Her lips moved against the dirt, just as she felt warm hands lift her.

“G
ot any ideas, Claude?”

“No, sir, can’t say that I do.” The old man’s dark eyes surveyed the shadowed corners of the barn, and he shook his head. “It’s pretty bad when you start lookin’ for trouble on your own place, ain’t it?” Sitting abruptly on a bale of hay, he motioned with a curt gesture to indicate another just a few feet away. “Might’s well rest your bones awhile, boss. Chompin’ at the bit, the way you been doin’ for the last couple a days, is like to wear you out.”

Matt shrugged and lowered himself to the fragrant bale, drawing a deep breath as he rested his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands loosely and focused on the callused skin that ridged his palm just beneath his thumb.

“I figure it has to be a maverick. Maybe some cowpoke who’s out for a buck. But then, who’d be hiring him...and why?” He shook his head and his eyes squinted against the sunlight from the wide doorway. His mouth drew down at the corners in a frown. “Then again, maybe somebody’s carryin’ a grudge or something. I don’t get it, and that’s a fact.” His words vibrated with anger and frustration.

“Well, somebody sure ain’t took a shine to Miss Emmaline, I’d say,” Claude drawled. “Can’t get it through my head why anybody’d want to cart her off thataway, though.”

“Bet he hadn’t reckoned on ropin’ a hellion.” Matt ground the words out, thankful as he thought of Emmaline’s brief battle.

“Yeah, she is that,” Claude agreed. “All that spunk and red hair came true from her daddy, you know. You imagine that low-down skunk’ll think twice before he lays hands on her again?”

A frown furrowed Matt’s brow and tightened his jaw. “Sure hope to hell he never gets another chance to touch her. And he won’t, if I can help it.”

“You can’t tie her to that bed forever, boss,” Claude told him shortly. “She’s gonna want to be out and around, and you know you can’t keep her off’n her horse. She’s taken to ridin’ with the little miss purt’ near every day.”

“Well, she won’t be riding without me from now on,” Matt answered abruptly. “And in the meantime, she’s not gettin’ out of my bed till tomorrow at least. Doc says he wants to be sure her head’s okay.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “‘Course, he’s draggin’ it out just a little. I told him I needed a few days to sort things out before I was ready to cope with her runnin’ free.”

A grin creased the old man’s face, his eyes crinkling with laughter. “I heard from Maria that Miss Emmaline is accusin’ you of puttin’ bars on the windows next. Sure didn’t think you’d go that far, boss.”

Matt glared at him, then rose in a lithe movement, hitching his low-slung pants a bit higher on his hips as he stood. He faced the open doorway and tucked his fingertips into the flat pockets that rode his hipbones. “Doubt if bars would stop her,” he admitted glumly. “She’s one determined woman, Claude. But I sure as hell don’t want anything to happen to her. I was only raggin’ her, anyway...about the bars,” he muttered. “I don’t know how she’ll take the news, but I’m afraid Miss Emmaline is gonna have to curtail her runnin’ free for a while.”

“We’ll all keep a good eye on her, boss.” Claude navigated his body to an upright position, a low grunt signifying his effort. “My old joints sure feel like they could use some wagon grease,” he muttered, following the taller man from the barn.

On the porch, Maria raised her hand to ring the big bell for dinner. It was enough to prod Matt into motion. His hand lifted to tilt the brim of his hat as he set off for the house.

“Pret’ near too hot to eat,” Claude grumbled, quickening his gait to keep up with Matt’s long-legged stride.

“That’ll be the day” came the drawling reply. “You know, Maria killed a couple of old hens this morning. My guess is that we’re havin’ chicken and dumplings.”

Claude’s bushy brows lifted, and one corner of his mouth twitched as he considered the thought. “Well, I reckon I could manage to take a little nourishment, since Maria’s gone to so much trouble.”

“Yeah, I reckon you could,” Matt agreed. Ignoring the shallow steps, he stepped onto the porch and halted. His eyes squinted as he caught sight of the slim figure standing behind the screening on the door. “Damn it, Emmaline, what are you doin’ out of bed?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Mr. Gerrity,” she said with haughty precision. “In case you’re interested, I’m tired of eating from a tray and counting the flowers in the wallpaper. I decided to get up and get back to normal.” Her fingers were clasped behind her and her chin was lifted in a posture he knew only too well.

Coming to a halt just inches from the door, he glared at her through the screen. “You got a lump on your head the size of a man’s fist, Emmaline, and your hands are all scraped up. I watched the doctor clean dirt out of your cheek—” He took a deep breath, his jaw clamped shut, and he scanned her with concern in his eyes.

It was the soft reply that threw him. He’d expected an explosion, at the very least a snapping rejoinder. What he hadn’t expected was the smile that lit her face, turning it into a glowing welcome as she pushed the door open and offered her hand.

“I’m sorry... I know you’ve been worried, Matt. I truly appreciate it. But I need this—I need to be out of bed, I really do. Please don’t be angry with me.” She moved back as he reached for the door, and then he was over the sill and reaching for her.

Hard and callused, more suited to holding a recalcitrant calf or the reins of a bucking horse, long fingers and hard palms closed about her waist with a tenderness that betrayed him. He drew her against him, ignoring the hiss of her indrawn breath when she caught sight of Claude, close at hand.

His dark head was tilted, and his mouth and nose were buried in the fragrance of her hair. Inhaling deeply, Matt savored the freshly washed scent and closed his eyes. What is it about this woman, he wondered with a surge of fierce passion that tightened his thighs and brought him to needy arousal with astonishing speed?

He held her with barely concealed frustration, bending his head low to speak to her with hushed intensity against her curls. His voice was a low growl, the sound muted and rasping.

“You can eat dinner with us, and then you’ll go back to bed, Emmaline. Or I’ll carry you. Afterward, I’ll just stay there with you for an hour or so,” he promised with seductive intent. His mouth lowered to brush against her ear, and his whisper was warm and beguiling. “What do you think, darlin’?”

Her gasp was indignant, and she pushed with all her might against him, forcing her arms between their bodies to press against his chest.

“You can’t budge me, sweetheart,” he said, that same deep growl once more smothered in her curls.

Her head tilted quickly, and then he was face-to-face with snapping eyes and scarlet cheeks. Her nostrils were flared and her teeth were clenched, but not too tightly for words to escape from rigid lips.

“I tried to be nice, Gerrity. I even said please! And all I get from you is a nasty ultimatum.”

“Yeah,
please
is a word that seldom gets spit out of that sassy mouth of yours, I’ll admit that,” he drawled, struggling to control the amusement that begged for release.

She glared up at him as he compressed his lips and shook his head. “I reckon I know what a chore it was for you to use that word, Em,” he acknowledged, with as much sobriety as he could muster. “I’ll even reconsider my—”

“It won’t do any good. I’m not going back to bed today, and that’s the end of it.” Her mouth pouted, the bottom lip pursed and plump, and it was more than he could resist. Claude or no Claude, he had to taste it.

His head dipped quickly the few inches it took to cover her mouth with his own, and he gathered her even closer to himself, her arms and hands imprisoned against his chest. His lips were warm, firm and demanding, begging and gaining entrance to the secrets of her mouth. She resisted for only a moment, then gave him what he asked for.

She’d lost the battle. Relaxing against his hard body and tilting her head to one side, she savored the flavor of him. That clean man taste she’d learned to relish over the past weeks. His embrace was hard and ungiving, his possession of her mouth a masculine force that held her in thrall, and she basked in the heated desire emanating from his touch.

He retreated slowly, his mouth softening and becoming tender against her flesh. Then, with a final sound of satisfaction, he lifted his lips from hers and watched the hot flush of anger she’d worn fade into a rosy blush that pinked her cheeks. Her eyes opened, languid and heavy as her lashes blinked twice.

“You haven’t kissed me like that since...” she began.

“Shh...” he said, lowering his head once more.

“Reckon I’d better head around to the other door, so’s I can get some dinner,” Claude grumbled from the porch. “Seems like some folks aren’t as fond of Maria’s dumplings as the rest of us.”

“Oh, my...” Emmaline squeezed her eyes shut in dismay.

“No point in gettin’ all flustered, Em,” Matt said, turning her about and heading her toward the dining room. “Claude’s pretty closemouthed, you know. He won’t tell anybody that we hug and kiss like married folks.”

He looked back at the man in the doorway and nodded toward the kitchen. “Go on and wash up, Claude. I’ll be right behind you.” One big hand on her shoulder halted Emmaline’s progress, and she waited. Then, turning about, she peered past him.

“It was bad enough at our party that you kept putting your arms around me, Matthew. I’m mortified you kissed me right in front of Claude.” She wore the look of a woman who was struggling between passion and pride, and her eyes met his accusingly.

“Well, you weren’t mortified a few seconds ago,” he reminded her. “And besides, old Claude knows all about kissin’ and huggin’, Emmaline. Anyway, I wouldn’t have kissed you if you hadn’t looked so tempting in that pretty dress, with your curls all ruffled and your eyes all shiny.”

Her mouth pursed and she shook her head. “Don’t think you can sweet-talk me, Gerrity. I’m on to your tricks.”

“Yeah?” His grin was back, and she slapped at the hand that reached for her.

“Go wash up.” Her finger stabbed at his chest. “Maria won’t let you eat at her table with half the barn on your hands.”

He reached for her, his big fist enclosing her finger as he bit gently at the tip of it. His eyes swept her face, and his husky voice spoke her name with soft emphasis. “Emmaline.”

She blinked at the sober tone. “What is it, Matt?”

“I don’t want you to leave the house alone. You can stay up today, but stay indoors, you hear?”

He left her no room to maneuver, and she acknowledged it with a nod. “All right, for today,” she conceded. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

He planted a soft kiss in the center of her palm before he released her.

He’d gained a small victory, he decided. One more day... But soon she’d balk at his ties on her. His frown was back in place, the tension of not knowing radiating to every nerve, and he readied himself for dinner in silence.

* * *

“This is the best part of being married,” Emmaline whispered into the quiet night. Curled against his long, firm length, she felt the warmth of that solid body against her back. Her feet pressed snugly against the hard length of his shins and his arms surrounded her, wrapping her with tender strength against him. Gently, so gently against her flesh, his hands formed themselves to fit with exquisite care, one nestled just beneath the soft swell of her breasts and the other pressed against the curve of her belly.

The soft batiste of her nightgown clung to her, providing a fragile shield against his touch. Carefully, tenderly, his fingers moved, skimming the curves and hollows of her form. His hard, muscled frame cradled her, exuding a warmth that penetrated to her very bones.

“Sleepy?” he asked against the top of her head.

“Umm...” Her mouth curved in a smile she was sure he could not detect.

“And what is that mumble supposed to mean?” His words were a rumble above her head, and amusement was rampant in his tone.

“I’m almost asleep.” Her eyes shone with anticipation as she felt his fingers move with lazy purpose, gathering the fabric of her gown into his grasp, easing it up the length of her legs.

“The hell you are,” he growled, sliding one hand across her belly and then scooping his palm beneath the firm, plump breast that had been tempting him ever since he’d nestled behind her. His big hand cradled and gently squeezed, lifting the firm flesh he’d captured with such ease.

Carefully, with practiced movements, he turned her onto her back, regretfully abandoning his prize for a moment, tugging her hands into place about his neck.

She felt the chill as he moved his warmth from her breast, suppressing the need to draw him back, marveling at the yearning of her very flesh for the friction of his fingertips, the touch of his callused hands. With renewed senses, she recognized the teasing mood his lips were creating. Now, brushing phantom kisses across her forehead, then down the short length of her nose, murmuring nonsense as he went.

“Don’t curse at me, Gerrity,” she muttered, nudging him with her knee as she lifted it to one side of his long leg.

“When?” he groused, and then recalled his words. “I didn’t curse. I just doubted your claim. You don’t act sleepy to me.”

“You don’t think I should be tired?” she asked with a yawn that lacked substance. “After all, I spent the whole afternoon and evening mending your shirts and putting the hems down on Tessie’s dresses. And I was almost asleep when you crawled in here with me.”

“Liar,” he murmured as he lifted his hands to the buttons that closed her gown. He slid one from its buttonhole and sought her eyes in the faint light from the window. “I planned this all day, Mrs. Gerrity, and if you were almost asleep when I snuggled up to you, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” His fingers concentrated on the row of buttons as he spoke, and they submitted to his handiwork quickly, until a narrow strip of pale skin lay exposed, almost to her waist.

“I’ll be chilly. I’ve been under the weather, remember?” Her words teased him as she moved her fingers through the heavy, dark strands of hair that fell against his neck.