The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (16 page)

“Uh...I’m going to the river.”

She took another step back, her brow furrowing. “You don’t have to go all the way down there to wash up.”

“I know.” His voice sounded gravelly.

“But it’s only the beginning of April. The water will be freezing.”

“That’s the point,” he ground out.

Her attention moved down his body then stopped at his groin. “Oh,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

Having her eyes on him there made his trousers painfully tight. His muscles coiled against the need to reach for her. He physically hurt.

He had told himself he would let her decide if she wanted their marriage to be more than a business arrangement. Right now, that sounded like the most addle-pated idea he’d ever had, and he wasn’t sure he could hold to it. He had to get the hell out of here.

* * *

Gideon wasn’t the only one who needed to cool down. After he left, Ivy wet a cloth and pressed it to her overheated cheeks and neck. She had really wanted to kiss him. Or wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t care; she had just wanted it.

At least he hadn’t pressed more about Tom. He would at some point, she knew. Another day, two at the most.

As the days passed, they both stayed busy. Ivy made sure of that. Anticipating more questions from Gideon had her nerves growing more raw every minute.

Friday was laundry day. The stage made its regular stop on Saturday and again on Tuesday. Conrad expressed his dislike about her marriage to Gideon, but the stage driver didn’t linger. Each day, Ivy braced herself for Gideon to press her about her late husband.

She expected him to become angry and short with her, but he didn’t. She thought he might try to blackmail the information out of her by maybe refusing to perform the chores he’d taken over. He didn’t do that, either.

He didn’t do anything she supposed he would—things Tom had done after he started drinking. Though Gideon didn’t avoid her, he seemed to be around only for meals and at night.

He began to train the half wolf–half dog to give the cows a wide berth and to be respectful of the horses. And he regularly checked the woods and kept an eye on things, watching out for her. Protecting her. Thankfully, there had been no more incidents at the farm.

Gideon took care of the livestock, doing everything from working with the new mare to doctoring any animal in need to making sure the heavily pregnant cows stayed close to the barn.

As the week passed, Ivy could barely imagine the farm without him. Which was ridiculous. She’d done just fine on her own before he came.

As soon as they figured out who wanted to harm her and they dealt with that person, she and Gideon would divorce. That shouldn’t bother her, but it did. A great deal.

She knew why. What she felt for him had more to do with want than gratitude or even needing his help.

She found herself being seduced by the idea of a future with him. She didn’t understand that at all. She’d been fooled by Tom and sworn she would never again be taken in by a man.

What if Gideon wasn’t the man she thought he was? What if he wasn’t showing his true self? So why couldn’t she get the idea of
them
out of her head?

The nights were the worst. Her infernal imagination continually replayed the moment she’d nearly kissed him. Why hadn’t she just done it?

Even though it had been for the best, she had regretted her inaction every day for the past week. Especially when she caught him several times looking at her with undisguised hunger blazing in his eyes. It was obvious Gideon wasn’t going to do anything until or unless she decided it was what she wanted.

The problem was that she did want it. She couldn’t stop wondering how it would feel to be with him.

Their current arrangement was straightforward, simple. Becoming intimate with him would complicate that to no end. Still, that didn’t ease the ache that seemed to bore deeper each time they were together.

Between her anxiety over whether Gideon would press her about the night she’d cursed her late husband and her sharpening awareness of her current husband, Ivy felt as if the walls were closing in on her.

Frustrated and confused, she kept reminding herself that she didn’t know him. Not the real him. That their marriage was temporary.

None of it seemed to matter. She wanted him in a way she had never wanted any other man, but she wasn’t going to do anything about it. She’d meant it when she said she didn’t want another husband. The only reason she had one now was because it had been the sole way to get a loan for the farm.

On Thursday evening, a week after their near kiss, Ivy stood on the back porch looking for Gideon. They had eaten supper, then he had disappeared. Tomorrow was laundry day. When she had gone to the barn to gather his clothes for washing, she’d thought she’d find him there, but no. The sun set in a burst of gold as her gaze scanned the yard then the pasture beyond where the cows grazed.

Hearing a bark, she shaded her eyes and saw the pup leaping and pouncing in the alfalfa a healthy distance from the cattle. She let out a series of short yips.

“Thunder!” Ivy warned sharply.

The whelp carried on, darting away when a cow stepped toward her. The black-and-white-spotted animal lowered her big head and eyed the little noisemaker.

Though the cow regarded Thunder as a minor annoyance and not a threat, Ivy stepped off the porch and picked up her skirts, hurrying toward the back fence. Opening the gate, she called again for the dog. The pup ran toward her, slowed by the thick grass.

Ivy bent toward the animal. “Leave the cows alone.”

Giving a playful bark, Thunder attacked her skirt hem then scampered away.

“Come here.” She tried again to pick up the dog, but the pup escaped her reach and raced toward a flat, well-grazed area of the pasture.

Grabbing up her skirts, Ivy chased Thunder across the short and tall grass and through the line of trees bordering the river. By the time the dog plopped down in front of a stretch of trees and undergrowth, she was breathing hard and so was Ivy.

She approached slowly, hoping the animal was give out. The nearby water rushed and gurgled over the rocks. She drew in the scent of pine and wildflowers. A splash alerted her to what was probably a deer or some other creature. The pup leaped up, but before she could bolt again, Ivy grabbed her.

“Gotcha.” Smiling, she straightened.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement and searched through the trees. Her gaze skimmed the water that glinted gold in the setting sunlight. Thunder squirmed, and Ivy tightened her hold as she finally caught a glimpse of something. No, she corrected. Some
one.

Dark wet hair. Strong nape. And a bare masculine shoulder. Gideon.

Her breath caught. Sleek and wet, he faced away from her and plucked a towel from a tree branch. Thanks to the underbrush, she caught only a flash of a naked hip and tight buttocks, the line where his sun-burnished back gave way to the lighter golden color of flesh that rarely saw the sun. But it was enough to scramble her pulse.

Oh, mercy.

He lifted a hand and dried his hair with the towel then swiped the cloth across his chest, muscles flexing in his arm as he moved. Ivy inched closer, absorbed by the glimpse of lean flanks, powerful thighs, the well-hewn plane of his stomach. He was beautiful. Masculine and sculpted and strong. Desire tugged low in her belly, and she went soft inside.

Dimly, she registered the pup squirming in her hold, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the big man half-hidden by the trees. Her husband.

She’d assumed his frequently damp hair the past several evenings had been the result of him washing up at the house pump. Had he been coming here instead?

As Gideon pulled on his trousers, her gaze moved over him again—the arch of his spine, the strength in his massive shoulders. Sunlight speared through the trees and washed over him in a haze of gold, revealing a crisscross of puckered skin across the entire expanse of his back.

Ivy frowned. What was that? Horror stole her breath as she registered what she was seeing. Scars.

Extensive scars. Everywhere in view. His back, his waist and sides. On the back side of his upper arm.

Tears filled her eyes. Had someone done that to him, or were those cruel marks the result of some kind of injury?

She or the dog must’ve made a noise because suddenly Gideon spun in her direction. A hammer clicked on a gun as his gaze probed the trees. “Who’s there?”

She felt as if she’d been spying on him, the same way someone had spied on her. It was pure reflex that had her turning and rushing back to the house.

This was why he never worked without a shirt. Once in the house, she tucked Thunder into her crate and flipped the small door bar into place. Only then did she realize she was crying.

She scraped away the tears, wondering what she should do. If she should do anything.

After scratching around a bit, the pup curled up on the rags Ivy had used to line the makeshift bed. Ivy was torn. She wanted to go to Gideon, but should she? She burned to know what had happened to him.

Hands shaking, it took her two attempts to light the lamp on the corner of the dry sink.

“What were you doing down there?” His quiet voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin.

She didn’t turn around, tried not to move at all. The door closed, and his boots scraped against the floor as he came up the short hallway.

He moved up to her back. “Answer me.”

“I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t spying on you.” She was afraid to turn around, not because of his scars, but because she didn’t want to do anything that might make him uncomfortable. “Thunder. She was bothering the cows and wouldn’t come when I called her. I chased her to the river.”

“How much did you see?” His voice was grim.

“Enough to know you were in the altogether.” Oops.

A sudden silence descended then he said flatly, “You saw ’em.”

“Yes.” Hands tangling in her skirts, she stared down at the floor. She had no idea what to do or say.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said gruffly. “I know they’re...ugly.”

He thought she was disgusted. He couldn’t be more wrong. She turned then, noticing how his damp shirt clung to his deep chest. Now only the scar encircling his neck and the one on his jaw were visible.

From this angle, the lamplight cast half of him in shadow. She wanted to touch him, but didn’t know if she should. “I didn’t even notice your scars at first.”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings,” he snapped.

“I’m not! I didn’t see them because I couldn’t take my eyes off your— Oh.” She’d almost told him exactly where she’d been staring. Intense heat flushed her body.

He arched a brow, waiting. Tense.

“Your scars weren’t what I noticed first,” she repeated primly. “But I did notice. There are so many. What happened?”

He turned to go. She snagged his hand, his work-roughened skin slightly cool from the water. “Please, don’t walk away.”

She was fully aware that she was asking him to talk about something painful, something he might never want to discuss, but she had to know.

He stood there, his wet shirt skimming over trousers that were now buttoned. He was naked under there, she knew.

She shouldn’t be thinking about him naked, not right now. She took a step closer, halting when he drew back. Her heart twisted. “Won’t you tell me?”

His face went carefully blank, and Ivy felt a tug of regret at asking him. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know. Not if it would cause him to relive painful memories.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” She started to release his hand.

His grip tightened. Not bruising, but too strong for her to break easily. “I was whipped,” he said brusquely. “The first ranch I worked was run by a mean bastard, and if you didn’t do what he wanted or work as fast as he ordered, you got a whippin’.”

Hadn’t he told her he had struck out on his own when he was twelve? He’d been a child when he’d received those lashes.

Recalling the expanse of mutilated flesh, she winced. “Do they ever hurt?”

“No.” He released her then.

She found herself in front of him, close enough to feel his body heat, to draw in the heady scent of male and soap and a dark musk. “How long did you work at that awful place?”

“Three months. I took off after that flogging.”

She wanted—needed—to touch him. Carefully, slowly, she laid a hand on his chest.

He grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you or bring up bad memories, but when I saw you—”

“You couldn’t stand the sight.” The matter-of-fact way he said it had her chest tightening.

“Only because it was horribly obvious how much pain you suffered.”

Still holding her wrist, he searched her eyes as if trying to decide whether she told the truth.

She reached up to cup his cheek. He looked startled, but didn’t pull back.

“I hate that you went through so much. That anyone could do such a thing.” Her fingers gently touched the thin jagged line on his left jaw. “Is that how your face and neck were scarred, too? From a whipping?”

“That was in prison.” His voice was emotionless, but Ivy saw plenty of emotion in his eyes. How much had he endured?

“Did you go to prison because you killed the monster who did that to you?”

“No.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. There was a wealth of pain in that one word. And an unyielding tone that made it clear he wasn’t going to explain why he’d been sent to Leavenworth.

It seemed natural to go up on tiptoe and brush a kiss against his stubbled jaw. How strong he was to have survived such brutality, especially so early in his life.

“What do you want, Ivy?” His grip grew a little tighter. “For me to tell you about the whippings so you can feel sorry for me? It’s over and done.”

He was right. She shouldn’t pry. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything if you’d rather not.”

His nostrils flared, and dull red color rode his cheeks. Anger? Arousal? She wasn’t sure.

Before she knew what he was about, he hauled her close. “Say I answer your questions?”