Never Marry a Cowboy (9 page)

His laughter dwindled, and he rolled slightly until she felt as though she was wrapped in a cocoon. He grazed the back of his hand along her cheek. “Life has treated you unfairly. Today hardly makes up for it.”

She licked her lips. “Is it true that a union between a man and a woman is as difficult on a woman as David hints?”

He threaded his fingers through her hair. “It can be vigorous…or not, depending upon the couple, the mood, the couple's feelings toward each other.”

“So you could be gentle.”

“On this matter, I must admit David's warning is best heeded.”

She dropped her gaze to his chest, preferring the sight of it to the pity in his eyes. She laughed mirthlessly. “I don't even know why I'm pursuing this path when I know so little about what passes between a man and a woman.”

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her head up. He skimmed his lips across her brow, her cheek, until his mouth rested near her ear. “I would possess your body, our flesh joined in a heated passion that would forever mark you as mine and me as yours. Right now, the parting will go easier because only words bind us.” His breath became harsh as he moved back so he could hold her gaze. “I can grant you the physical pleasure, Ashton, but could you truly accept it, knowing that our hearts watched from afar?”

“Either way, it sounds as though I shall have regrets.”

He cradled her face within the crook of his shoulder. “It was not my intent to give you any regrets, only to remind you of our original bargain.”

“Then you have loved all the women you've bedded.”

“I've loved none of them.”

Her heart constricted with the knowledge he had unwittingly given. He'd never made love to his beloved Clarisse.

“Then how can you know there is a difference?”

She released a tiny squeak as he rolled her over, wedging himself between her thighs, her nightgown pulled taut across her legs.

“Do you want my body joined with yours? Give me your permission and I will make it so.”

The lamplight cast a halo around the anger burning brightly within his eyes.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely. She wanted adoration in his eyes, and his willingness without seeking permission. “I think you're right. We're overstepping the boundaries of the original bargain.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I should leave. I am ruining what was to be a gift.”

She dared to comb her fingers through his thick hair. “Please stay. I won't badger you for things you can't give.”

He rolled off her and drew her snuggly against his side. “In the next few months, while you are in Dallas, should you meet a man who takes possession of your heart, know that I will fully understand if you grant him possession of your body.”

“Then our vows today would become false. Will you seek solace with other women when I leave?” she asked, wondering at the pain that ricocheted through her chest with the thought.

“No.”

“So you will honor the vows, but you don't expect me to?”

“I expect you to take advantage of every opportunity for happiness that life places before you.”

“And
your
happiness?”

“Can wait.”

She pressed her palm to his chest and marveled at the hard, steady pounding of his heart. “They say a girl does not truly become a woman until she marries. I thought only of what today would give me, not what it would take from you.”

“You've taken nothing from me today.”

“Except a chance for happiness.”

“No, I lost that eight years ago when I placed the one thing I valued most above the only thing I treasured.”

K
it found nothing as comforting as the feel of a woman's body pressed against his, her curves nestled within the hollows of his frame. Yet never had the placement seemed so incredibly perfect. Reason enough for a man to marry, he supposed.

But was it reason enough for a woman? A woman needed love, even if it was only a pretense. He had not anticipated that once he settled into bed with Ashton his lower body would begin to rule his head, nor that she might desire it.

Although sleep eluded him, she had succumbed quickly enough to it once their chatter had ceased. He had no memory of ever talking with a woman in bed except for the erotic things he'd whispered in her ear. He should have gone out the window as planned.

Dear God, he should have thrown himself out head first.

Because now, all he could do was watch her sleep and wish for things that could never be. How many other dreams did she hold that would not bear fruit?

She shivered against him, and he tucked the covers
more closely around her. How could she be cold in this Texas heat? Perhaps because she had so little meat on her bones. He would ensure that she ate a hearty breakfast before she began her trip back to Dallas.

She rolled away from him and the loneliness eased in. Strange, how he had not noticed its absence, but was only now aware of its presence.

He considered drawing her back into his embrace, but he did not wish to take a chance on disturbing her. He folded his hands beneath his head, stared at the shadows dancing across the ceiling, and realized with increasing awareness that he desperately wanted to make love to the woman lying in bed with him.

She was correct in her assumption that men preferred women with more rounded curves, but it was not Ashton's physical attributes that attracted him. It was the calmness of her soul that reached out to him. He longed for more than a physical union. He wanted emotional gratification.

A dangerous thing to crave in his love-deprived existence.

 

Kit felt hell's blaze rise around him, engulfing him as forked flames scorched his flesh. He heard the harsh rise and fall of the bellows that breathed life into the fire. The dampness surrounded him and the earth trembled as he was consumed—

He shot up in bed, his breathing labored while his eyes adjusted to the muted shadows. The dream hovered, refusing to be banished. He wasn't on his cot. He was in a room, a room that carried the lingering fragrance of a woman. A woman. A woman curled on
her side, shivering as though she were packed in snow.

Reality crashed in on him and he leaned nearer to her. “Ashton?”

Her breathing came in short gasps, followed by a hacking cough. He touched her shoulder. Her nightgown was drenched, and beneath it he felt the heat of fever. “Ashton, tell me what to do.”

“Leave. I…can…tend to my needs.”

“The bloody hell you can.” He tossed aside the covers, scrambled out of bed, and hurried to her side. He reached for the buttons on her nightgown. Her fingers closed over his.

“No, please leave.”

“It's bloody stuffy in here. Who closed the window?”

“I did. I woke up and you were asleep, so I closed it. It's a rule. Mother's rule. Night air is unhealthy.”

A thousand curses rumbled through his mind. “You need fresh air, but I can't allow it in until you are dry. I'm going to remove your nightgown.”

“It's improper.”

“I'm your husband,” he reminded her as he lost all patience and tore the gown in two. She screeched, frantically trying to hide what he'd just revealed, but had no time to notice. He grabbed the top blanket and began to gather the sweat from her body.

“Please, I can dry myself,” she pleaded, her voice small and frightened.

“I can do it more quickly and efficiently. As for your modesty, I shall return it to you once you are no longer shivering.”

He grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around her. Leaving her in the bed, he stumbled through the darkness, cursing when his shin hit the object he was seeking. He shoved the rocking chair to the window, tore down the draperies and flung open the window.

He crossed the room, and as gently as he could, he lifted Ashton into his arms. “You need fresh air.”

“But Mother warned me—”

“I don't give a bloody damn about your mother's warnings. If I'm on the verge of suffocating in this room, how can you not be?”

He carried her to the rocker, dropped into it, and cradled her against his body. “You're fevered.”

“It'll pass.”

“Has this happened before?” he asked, wishing that his voice didn't sound like that of a panicked schoolboy. He rubbed her back and arms briskly, trying to work up a measure of heat to stop her shivering. How could she shiver when she was fevered?

“Yes,” she finally answered, her teeth clicking together.

“Does David know?”

“No, and please don't tell him.” With a violent shudder, she collapsed against him, nestling her head within the crook of his shoulder. “It always passes.”

Gingerly, he felt her forehead, grateful for the coolness that greeted his touch. She no longer shivered or coughed. All that remained were the shallow breaths that barely caused her chest to rise and fall.

He took a deep shuddering breath and relaxed against the chair, gently rocking while he held her more snuggly against him. The cool night air seeped
into the room. It did not yet hold the heaviness of summer, but it was crisp and clean. Perhaps he was wrong and it would do more harm than good, but for right now, he was content with her stillness. He released a slight chuckle.

“What's so funny?” she asked quietly.

“I have done many things with many women, but I have never done this.” Although his mind began to weave possibilities. If he were to turn her so she faced him, her legs straddling his thighs…he closed his eyes and fought back the images. The last thing his innocent bride needed was to feel against her thigh the direction of his thoughts. “Why have you not told David of these episodes?”

She sighed. “Because he would hire a nurse to sleep in the room with me, and the last of my independence would be forfeited. I've had so little in my life that I treasure the smallest liberties, and sleeping alone is the greatest of those at the moment.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “You should have told me the truth about why you wanted me to leave. I had no desire to relieve you of your independence.”

“I'm glad you stayed. I didn't feel like a prisoner even though you held me in arms that seemed as strong as iron. When I first awoke, I watched you sleep. You do it with such ease, as though you have no demons to haunt you.”

He smiled sardonically. “It is only in sleep that the demons do not torment me, so I always welcome it.”

He watched as she studied his face and the furrow
between her brow deepened. “What if they are wrong about consumption?”

“In what way?”

“They say it is a disease of the family. Yet neither my parents nor David has ever showed signs of it.”

“Surely the physicians know its cause.”

“They don't know everything.”

Pain sliced through his heart, for she could not have spoken truer words. They had not known how to stop the disease that took Clarisse. “What is your theory on its cause?”

She averted her gaze. “It lives inside my lungs. It seems to me that it could easily escape with each breath I release, and if someone were close enough to take my breath into their bodies—”

She shoved against him. “You shouldn't hold me so close.”

Pulling her back, he banded his arms around her. “It's a bit late to worry about that now, don't you think? Especially after I kissed you.”

She swiveled her head. “I didn't breathe when you kissed me.”

“It was that good, was it?”

She smiled timidly. “You arrogant man. You know it was heavenly.”

He combed his fingers through the strands of hair that had loosed from her braid. “Are you in pain?”

“No, I hear that frightening aspect comes later, near the end.”

“Why did the physician predict you would die this winter?”

“Because winter months are the hardest on me. Summer comes and I feel better, but last winter he truly didn't expect me to survive, so he says this year will be my last.” She cradled his cheek. “What if I
have
given you this disease?”

“I can think of better wedding gifts.”

She hit his shoulder. “Do not make light of my fears.”

Cradling her face, he studied the lines that had not been shaped by happiness. Her parents had obviously protected her to the extremes and now her brother was determined to carry on in their stead. “Ashton, I learned long ago that there is much in life I cannot control. Worry does not alter them.”

“But you could die because of my stupid dream. It was a child's wish, not a woman's. I'll worry constantly—”

“You are not to worry about me at all. I do not fear death.” He trailed his thumb across her cheek. “Do you?”

“I don't fear the dying or even what awaits me beyond. I think I simply regret all that death will deny me.” She smiled softly. “Although it did give me you, didn't it?”

His stomach clenched at the warmth in her eyes. “Only temporarily, Ashton. Until the stagecoach arrives tomorrow.”

He hated watching the light dim in her eyes, but by God, he had played his role of groom and more.

She curled her head into the nook of his shoulder until her face became lost in the shadows. “Thank you, Christian, for traveling with me into the night.”

His throat tightening, he held her closer and continued to rock her until she fell asleep, a woman who would die with a child's innocence and his family's name carved on her headstone for eternity.

He could not decide if it would be a tribute to dreams or a mockery of them.

The blanket slipped from her bare shoulder and a moonbeam captured the perfection of her small breast. Her smooth pink nipple fascinated him. Usually by the time he had removed a woman's clothes, passion had hardened it into a little bud. The temptation to run his tongue over it and feel the bud form in his mouth was almost more than he could bear.

The breeze gently brushed over them, and he watched her nipple pucker. Yet the temptation remained. What had he given her this day? Nothing really.

An opportunity to dress up and play a part. A few dances. A kiss. A tuck into bed. The opportunity to sleep within his arms.

And now he rocked her as though she were a child.

Gingerly, he brought the blanket back over her shoulder and tucked it securely into place until her tempting flesh was hidden from his sight. Unfortunately, he could not erase the image of it from his memory.

 

The knock sounded at precisely eight o'clock. Kit chuckled as he slipped the last button of Ashton's dress through its loop. “Your brother is timely.”

Ashton turned slightly and smiled at him. “He doesn't want to miss the stagecoach.”

She bid David to enter. Kit leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest, taking pleasure in David's indignant expression.

“Good morning,” Kit said cheerily.

“There was certainly no reason for you to slip back into the room this morning,” David said.

“There certainly wasn't.”

David glared at him. “You never left, did you?”

“That answer rests between my wife and myself.”

“Your wife?” David snarled.

Kit held up his hands. “My bride. If she came to this bed a virgin last night, then she is still one.”

“You doubt that she did?”

“Oh, David, calm down,” Ashton scolded. “Can't you see he enjoys riling you?”

She reached for a ribbon. Kit took it from her and picked up the brush. “Allow me.”

His body ached in every spot imaginable. A rocking chair did not make a fine bed. He never thought he would have preferred his cot to a woman in his arms.

He brought her hair back and tied it in place with the ribbon. Black. He would send her some colorful ribbons and perhaps a letter or two just to keep in touch.

He extended his elbow. “Shall we see about breakfast?”

She slipped her arm through his. “David, stop frowning. You can escort me downstairs as well.”

Kit walked beside her to the door.

“How did you sleep last night, David?” Kit asked as she wound her arm around her brother's.

“Poorly.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Kit,” Ashton chastised.

“This marriage was his idea, and I rather enjoy the thought that he lost some sleep over it.”

“He didn't hold a gun to your head,” she scolded as they descended the stairs.

No, she had held something much more lethal—joy in her eyes.

He pulled out her chair and waited until she was settled before taking his chair beside her.

“Land o'goshen,” Mrs. Gurney said as she came out of the kitchen. “I wasn't expecting to see the newlyweds down here. I had planned to take something up to you later. You gonna be living here now that you got a wife, Marshal?”

Kit cleared his throat and took his napkin. “No, Mrs. Gurney.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “You can't expect Mrs. Montgomery to sleep on that old cot in the jail.”

“You need not worry yourself, Mrs. Gurney,” David said. “Ashton is going to return to Dallas with me. My wife is expecting a child and has need of her.”

“Her leaving so quick don't make much sense to me. I reckon the marshal was just stakin' his claim then.”

“Yes,” David murmured.

Mrs. Gurney returned to the kitchen, and Kit watched as Ashton took her usual small portions of food.

“Actually, Ashton will not be returning to Dallas with you,” Kit said as he scooped up some eggs.

David's fork clinked as it hit his plate, and Ashton turned to Kit, a deep furrow in her brow.