The Heavenly Surrender (9 page)

“
I think Brenna was right to spank you once in a while…especially when you involve yourself in such a childish act!”

At once, Brevan’s eyes narrowed—his chest rapidly rising and falling with indignation. Taking hold of Genieva’s wrist, he turned her abruptly away from him, slapping her smartly on her own behind.

Genieva wrenched her hand free of his grasp, shouting, “How dare you? How dare you lay a hand on my…on my…”

“Bum,” Brevan finished for her. “We had this same conversation a few days back, I think. The word is
bum
, Genieva.”

Throwing the wooden spoon to the floor, Genieva reached around and spanked the seat of his pants as hard as she could with her own hand.

“Genieva,” Brevan warned. “I’ll turn ya over me knee, I will, lass.”

“Don’t threaten me,” she ordered. Reaching for the bowl of batter, she lifted it high above her head.

“Ya wouldn’t dare, lass…for the consequences would be beyond yar toleration,” he growled. “Ya won’t be able to sit yarself down for a week!”

But Genieva’s temper was provoked, and, tipping the bowl, she poured the batter over Brevan’s head. He made no effort to escape—only stood glaring at her as the brown confection dripped from his chin, nose, and hair. As he wiped a dab of batter from his left eye, Genieva’s hand flew to her mouth, and she gasped. She was suddenly horrified at her own action—for she knew there would indeed be a price to pay.

“I-I’m sorry, Brevan. But…but you provoked me so,” she stammered.

“Maybe. But ya better run all the same, lass. For I’ll not be gotten the better of, I won’t,” he threatened.

Genieva knew by the flame smoldering in his eyes he meant his remark literally. Lifting her skirts and petticoats, she turned—fleeing from the house as quickly as her rather cumbersome work boots would allow. When she felt she had reached a safe distance, she stopped to catch her breath. Looking back at the house, she gasped as she saw Brevan step onto the porch, run his hands through his batter-saturated hair, and wipe the stuff on his trousers before catching sight of her.

“You!” he shouted, shaking an index finger angrily in her direction. “Ya better make for the hills, lass!”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Genieva whined as she saw him quicken his stride toward her. Turning, she began running again. There was no guessing what he would do to her were he to catch her. Genieva had visions of herself bent over his knee—her backside being abused with a switch. She knew he would overtake her in a moment. Stopping short, she turned to face his wrath, raising her hand to halt him.

“Brevan,” she panted breathlessly. An odd flutter permeated her bosom at the sight of Brevan advancing on her. “Only wait.” Brevan paused for a moment in his pursuit of her. “Forgive me. I don’t know why I lost my composure. I…I . . .”

As he lunged forward, taking hold of her shoulders with his cake-battered hands, she could only stare apprehensively at him. Genieva could see his jaw was tightly clenched. As he began frantically looking about, she knew her vision had been correct and that he was, indeed, searching for some utensil to use for her paddling. Instinctively, Genieva’s desire to preserve her dignity triumphed, and she shoved him as hard as she could—causing him to stumble backward and land squarely on his behind in the dirt. Her original intent had been to run. To flee for safety until her husband’s temper was squelched. But as she studied the mighty man sitting in the dirt—hair, face, arms, and shirt covered in brown batter—amusement swelled within her. Even mercilessly biting her lip couldn’t stop the giggles from erupting.

“You look like you’ve been in a fight with…with…” she struggled as her laughter increased.

“Don’t say it, Genieva! Don’t ya dare to say it!” Brevan growled, shaking his finger at her again.

“With a cow sufferin’ from a bad case of the runny dung,” Brian’s voice interrupted from one side of them. Genieva looked to see her brother-in-law approaching from the orchard.

“Ya keep yar mouth to yarself, brother Brian,” Brevan warned as he stood. “She’s poured a bowl of batter over me head, she has!”

“And well ya deserve it, Brevan. I’ve no doubt in me of that,” Brian chuckled, wiping the moisture of laughter from his eyes. “But I’m not goin’ to find meself in the middle of this. I’m afraid ya’re on yar own, ya are, Genieva.”

“Brian, please,” Genieva pleaded as Brevan lunged forward, taking hold of her arm tightly.

“Leave me out of it, lass. I’ve learned me lesson when it comes to battle with me brother.” Turning his attention to Brevan, Brian added, “Why don’t ya just kiss the lass, Brevan, and get it done with? Travis’s heifer isn’t worth the torture to yarself, it’s not.”

“What?” Genieva exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll thank ya to keep yar nosy snout out of me business, Brian,” Brevan growled. “Now, off with ya. ’Tis a private matter between the lass and me.”

Genieva watched Brian saunter off, chuckling to himself, and her anxiety heightened. When she looked back to Brevan, she watched, aghast, as he ran his fingers through his matted hair once more before taking hold of her shoulders.

“My dress,” Genieva whispered as she looked at the brown handprints staining the sleeves of her clothing. A conquering grin spread across Brevan’s handsome, batter-caked face. He tore open the front of his shirt. “What are you doing?” Genieva asked. He did not answer, simply wiped at his chest with one hand, coating it thoroughly with the cake batter that had found its way there. Ceremoniously, he held the sticky hand before Genieva’s face, ensuring her vision of it. “Don’t,” she begged an instant before his hand lost itself in the softness of her hair. As she began to struggle in an attempt to escape any further harassment, she found herself suddenly and unexpectedly bound tightly in Brevan’s arms—her soft, feminine form held improperly against his strong, masculine one.

“What’s the old sayin’ there, Genieva?” he asked. “Ya seem to be the expert here on them. ‘If ya make yar cake batter…be prepared to eat it too?’ Would that be close enough?” With a victorious chuckle, he ran his unshaven, cake-batter–covered cheek against her own—repeating the process on the other side of her face.

“Oh, let me go!” she cried. “You’re a mess!”

Brevan laughed, and Genieva sensed his anger was gone—lost as hers was in the complete and utterly ridiculous situation.

“Let me be warnin’ ya, lass,” he began—wiping his chest again and spreading the mess across her forehead and chin, “I like to be tastin’ batters and doughs when a woman is bakin’, I do. It would go much better for ya if ya’d learn to give me a little taste here and there of yar own free will.”

“What?” Genieva breathed. She couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. “I couldn’t care less about what it feels like to be kissed by you, Brevan McLean. That is most assuredly the very last thing on my mind!” she lied.

Lowering his voice, he said, “Come now, lass. Let’s be havin’ us a kiss. Then we’ll both know that it’s not somethin’ we want to be wastin’ any more time considerin’. We’ll get more done that way, and ya won’t find yarself trippin’ over the laundry anymore.” Genieva shook her head, unbelieving, but he continued, “’Tis the heat and lack of rain that’s got us on edge, ya know. Now let’s get this out of the way, so we’ll have one less thing pickin’ at our brains.”

“It’s not picking at my brain,” Genieva lied again. And it was, indeed, a lie, for she had spent many an hour during many a day daydreaming on the idea. Yet as his charming smile brightened his face, Genieva was so entranced by his attractiveness, that when his head descended, his lips placing a light but lingering kiss on her cheek, she did not move to escape him. Putting one hand lightly at her chin, Brevan tipped her head slightly, and for the first time, Genieva experienced the fascinating touch of his lips to her own. He kissed her lips softly and quickly several times in succession before gradually coaxing the intimate ritual into a deeply stirring and passionate exchange.

Genieva’s mind and body fought the complete elation threatening to overtake her common sense. Brevan’s kiss was dangerous to her mental stability. She had known that it would be. Yet, she had dreamt of it at night, thought of it in daylight, and wanted to experience it since the moment she had first seen him almost two weeks before. His body was warm and solid—his mouth hot and convincing in its endeavor to prove to her that her dreams could not compare to the reality of him.

“
How convenient,” he mumbled when he at last released her from his merciless and irresistible embrace.

Brevan swiftly gathered her into his arms—picking her up and slinging her over one shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of flour.

“We both need bathin’, we do. ’Tis easier by far to jump into the pond with ya than to tote the water into the house and pour it into the tub,” he chuckled as he strode toward the pond.

“Don’t you dare! Brevan! Stop at once!” Genieva screeched. Yet, mere seconds later, she felt the rather refreshing coolness of the pond’s waters engulf her. Standing up and gasping for breath, she pushed her sticky and now wet hair back from her face. Brevan laughed and swam past her to the middle of the pond, where he disappeared several times beneath the water’s surface in an effort to cleanse himself of the cake batter.

“Here, lass,” he called to her, stripping off his shirt. “A washcloth for ya.” He threw the wet article of clothing at her, hitting her squarely in the face.

“I can’t believe you did this to me! You are an utter pest!” she cried as she began to wipe at her face and hair with the wet cloth. “I am completely soaked to the skin, Brevan.” She ducked as one of Brevan’s boots barely missed her as it flew through the air over her head, landing soundly on the bank of the pond. The other boot followed, and he only chuckled.

“Ya look like a drowned kitten, lass,” he remarked. Swimming back to her, he stood and walked to her. Reaching down, he took hold of her ankle, and she toppled back into the water sitting down solidly in the mud beneath. “Get your boots off and come swimmin’,” he demanded.

“I don’t like water,” Genieva argued. It was true. Even as a small child, she had harbored an intense fear of bodies of water. She watched as her own boots landed with a thud next to Brevan’s on the bank.

“Ya don’t swim then?” he asked.

“No,” she confessed.

“Then it’s time ya learned, it is.” He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “But not in that mess,” he muttered, tugging at her skirt. “Take this bolt of fabric off yarself now.”

Genieva’s eyes widened. “I will not!” she avowed.

“You’ll sink and drown otherwise, lass,” Brevan informed her as he turned her away from him and fumbled with the fastening hooks at her skirt waist. In a quick moment Genieva felt her skirts and petticoats slip into the water about her ankles and she squealed in horror as Brevan turned her to face him again, took her waist between his powerful hands and began to pull her further into the deepening water. Soon the surface of the water was lapping at her chin, and only the tips of her toes could feel the squishy mud beneath her feet.

How had she gotten from a morning filled with hard labor at chores to splashing in the pond while covered in cake batter? Genieva looked about her as Brevan pulled her deeper.

“I don’t know. Maybe somebody who would let me stick me fingers in the cake batter once in a while and not spank me on the bum for it,” he suggested, obviously amused at Genieva’s disadvantage.

She could no longer feel the bottom of the pond with her toes. She realized the only things keeping her head above the water were Brevan’s strong hands at her waist and instinctively threw her arms about his neck for support. She was frightened and drew her body next to his for safety. As his arms slid around her—held her tightly to him—she knew he would not let her slip beneath the water’s surface.

“Ya have nothin’ to fear, lass,” Brevan assured her then. “I taught Brenna and Lita both to swim last summer, I did.”

Immediately Genieva’s renewed fear caused her to stiffen, and she tried to push herself out of his embrace. “I don’t want to learn to swim,” she argued.

“Well, I lost me chances at a new heifer today, I did. And it’s yar fault. So, I think it’s time ya sacrificed somethin’ yarself,” he told her.

“Whatever are you talking about, Brevan?” she asked. She didn’t understand why Brevan, Travis, and Brian were forever referring to Travis’s new heifer.

“I’ll just get ya used to the water today, lass. We’ll swim some other afternoon. I’ve wasted enough time on silliness just now.” He positioned one of her arms to crook the back of his neck. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

Genieva was conscious of Brevan’s powerful chest against her own—of the muscles in his arms as he held her in the water.

“No. It isn’t,” she admitted. She still hated the water, but the closeness and feeling of privacy at having Brevan’s complete attention was worth enduring her fears.