Seasons of Glory

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  He was doing nothing to make this easy, darn him. He just stood there looking all big and finely formed and … big and—a sigh escaped her—and handsome and sleepy-eyed. Glory’s guilt and agitation—and Riley’s suddenly hot-eyed stare—wriggled her toes on the hallway’s carpet runner. Say something. “I just came to … say good night.”

  Making a slow, lazy circuit of her entire body from her head to her toes and then back again, Riley finally met her gaze and shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re not dressed for good night. You’re here to play with fire again.”

  Glory sucked in a breath at his forwardness, but still felt her nipples harden, her womb stir. She folded her arms over her telltale bosom as best she could. “I’m doing no such thing.”

  Riley grinned and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. He crossed his arms over the expanse of his hard chest, bent a knee—a picture of complete male ease—and stared down at her from under his lowered lids. “All right, you’re not. Then … good night, Glory.”

  She swallowed and notched her chin up. “Good night, Riley. I hope you sleep well.” With that, she turned in the direction of her bedroom two doors down.

  But that was as far as she got before Riley clutched at the back of her gown and pulled her stumbling to him. “Come here, you.”

  Shocked, titillated, Glory gasped and found herself spun up against his unyielding body. And held there by arms strong enough to support the weight of her world. Momentarily robbed of speech, she stared up into his brown-eyed, handsome face. Her mouth open, her body shamelessly afire, she shook her head no.

  “Don’t tell me no, Glory. It’s too late for that.” His husky voice slipped over her skin like whispering fingers, undressing her. “You come stand outside this door almost every night. I hear you. I know you’re there. This was one time too many. So tell me what you want. Tell me.”

  Scared of what she wanted, Glory could say nothing. She could only cling to his warm, solid length and … want.

  “Tell me, Glory, say it,” Riley urged, his darting gaze roving over her face. “Look at you barely covered up in your nightclothes. And your hair all undone like only a husband has a right to see it.” He ran his hands through her curls, bringing a fistful up to his nose and inhaling the fragrance. His eyes closed. His expression changed to intense pleasure.

  Then he exhaled, opened his eyes. “Do you know I can feel when you walk into a room? I don’t even have to look to know you’re there. But when I look across the table at mealtime and see you, it’s you I smell … you I taste. You’re a cool spring day and a hot summer night all rolled into one.”

  Glory’s mouth dried, her eyes drooped closed. These words of his. All day long Riley didn’t say two words. He kept a close guard on his thoughts and emotions. But when he was like this? She never could have dreamed he’d have such words. Like poems they were. So unexpected, so precious. This was what she wanted. She wanted his … words, his wanting her.

  Weak-limbed, too warm for her chemise, when she should have been cold from the drafty hallway, Glory laid her head against his chest, felt a button under her cheek. Its round hardness didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way Riley’s body felt and the things he was saying … and doing.

  He released her trailing hair and ran his long-fingered, questing hands over her nightshirt, down her ribs, her waist, her hips. It was too much, his touch. Glory shrank against him. Only his hands held her upright. If he let her go, she’d fall in a broken-doll heap to the floor. “You’re everything I want. I dream about you, about making you mine. I see you in my bed. My wife. I see our children—”

  Stark, raving reality struck Glory cold, stiffened her in Riley’s arms. His words and his hands both stopped. Why, his dream was hers. Hers. But his wife? Their children? Her—a Thorne? No. That wasn’t her dream. In her dream, she saw herself with a husband and children, yes. She saw their home. The house was always this one, but … who was the husband? Whose face did she put in her dream? Was it Riley’s, dear God?

  Afraid to look into her mind’s eye for the answer, or into his face for the living truth of it, Glory held tightly to Riley’s arms and turned her cheek to his chest. Underneath her ear, his heart beat slowly, steadily. But he said not a word. Not one. He didn’t even move a muscle. He waited for her, she knew it. Just like all the other decisions around here, this one was up to her.

  Decision? Nightmare was a better word. How could it be Riley she wanted? How? It wasn’t fair. She tried to picture them wed … and greeting her sisters when they came home. Hannah would die of shock to find her married to the son of Papa’s enemy. And Jacey? She’d most likely shoot her. Glory shook her head. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Finally pulling away from Riley, she looked up into his square-jawed and serious face. “Riley, I—”

  He held up a hand. “I know. You can’t. You can tease me. You can want me. But you can’t love me. Me—a Thorne.” He closed his eyes, his jaw jutted, and he mouthed, “Dammit.” Then, looking again at her, his brown eyes so dark and serious, his generous lips firmed to a thin line, he said, “Your father’s feuds don’t have to be yours. Think about it.” With that, he released her and stepped back into his room, closing the door in her face.

  Blinking in shock, her cheeks heating up, Glory covered her mouth with her hands. She just didn’t understand any of this. What was she doing outside Riley’s room in her nightclothes, for heaven’s sake? It was as if her body had taken over her mind, was telling it what to do, was forcing her to seek him out. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and say those pretty words to her. But Riley wanted something more. A lot more. He wanted all of her.

  A heavy aching between her legs told her she wanted him to have all of her. Defeated, feeling like a traitor to her family, Glory closed her eyes and heaved out a sigh laden with unfulfilled edginess. Opening her eyes, she bit at her lip and stared at his door. She had to get away from here before he opened it again. Or before she did.

  Feeling anything but sleepy, Glory knew she couldn’t go to her room, to her bed. She’d just toss and turn and cry and be miserable. No, what she needed was a good stiff dose of cold air. Mind-clearing air. Body-chilling air. Now. She took off at a sprinting, skipping pace down the hall and then down the stairs, clinging to the bannister for support, as if a pack of wolves were chasing her and she wouldn’t be safe until she was outside.

  Actually fleeing by the time she crossed the moon-silvered great room and raced for the door, her arms outstretched, Glory firmly believed that real wolves, their eyes red, their fangs bared, did nip at her heels. She pulled the bolt back on the heavy lock and twisted the brass knob. Wrenching the door open, she sucked in a mouthful of cold, cold late October air. In only three steps she crossed the wooden verandah and stood gasping, clinging to its low railing. Her thin gown billowed like a laundered sheet hung out to dry.

  Instantly sober, alert, and over her ache of desire, Glory hugged herself, hunkering down to a shivering posture. She concentrated on the nightscape revealed for her by the starlit, full-moon night sky. Beautiful, she called it, turning in a slow semicircle, her bare toes curling against the hard wood under her feet. Not a thing moved in the yard. Or up on the hills. All around was quiet. Still. Calming.

  Still hugging herself, still shivery, Glory made herself a promise. She’d do this more often. She’d get out of the house more. She’d ride Daisy more. Surely the little chestnut mare was getting fat and lazy without the exercise she was used to. Paying the invoices could wait. The hard decisions that required her to think like a man, when she was barely used to thinking like a woman, could just go hang themselves.

  Because no one—not Mama, not Papa, not Hannah, not Jacey—expected her to lose her mind trying to hold this place together. Glory smiled. She’d have a little fun, that’s what she’d do. But right now, she was going to go inside before she froze to death. A smile for her own silliness in coming out here lifted her spirits as she started to turn toward the open front d
oor.

  But then … from behind her, and as if conjured from the night, a hand clamped over Glory’s mouth, a viselike arm gripped her around the waist. Jerking in shocked and fearful reaction, falling back against her captor’s thickly padded, fully clothed body, she could only suck in air through her pinched nostrils and scream inside her head.

  Stunned by the unexpectedness of the attack and stiff with horror, every nerve-ending alive, Glory clawed at the hand over her mouth. She kicked barefooted at her abductor as he began dragging her back and over to the wraparound verandah’s dark side. Out of the moon’s light. Out of eyesight of the guards posted at the gate. The guards! Where are they?

  In the next instant Glory realized that, for some reason, the guards weren’t at the gate. Had they been, they would’ve seen this man long before he got to her. And no one in the house knew she was out here. So her life rested in her own hands. And if the man dragging her got her into the shadows, he’d kill her. Glory twisted and wrenched in his grasp.

  Her attacker tightened his hold around her waist, nearly cutting off her air. She had to stop him. But how? Think, Glory. She needed a weapon. She had none. Then she realized that she did—and right under the hand clamped over her mouth and cutting off her air.

  Instead of tearing ineffectually at the grunting man’s claw-like fingers, Glory jerked her head from side to side, finally forcing him to shift his position the slightest bit. That was all she needed. She opened her mouth, pressed his palm against her teeth … and bit down hard. A yelp of shocked pain preceded her being let go and shoved forward.

  Stumbling, she fell to her knees, but instantly was on her feet and running for safety. Crying out in sharp little gasps of terror, her heart pounding against her ribs, Glory expected at any second to be grabbed again.

  But by some miracle, she made it inside and got the door closed and locked without the groping hands seizing her again. Outside noises captured her heightened attention. Bootsteps running across the verandah. Glory jumped away from the door, backing farther and farther into the great room.

  The clumpy, distorted shadow of a man, like a great winged raven, passed suddenly in front of the casement window. Glory flicked her unblinking gaze to the matching window on the door’s other side. No shadow passed. She focused on the door itself. Her breathing stilled. Just then, the door shook in its hinges, the lock rattled, and the knob turned.

  Glory pulled her hands away from her mouth and screamed.

  Chapter 9

  Doors behind her opened. Glory jerked around and, still stiff with fright, made a stumbling dash toward help. “Riley, Biddy, come quick! Help me! There’s a man outside. At the door. Hurry!”

  Just as she stumbled against the leather couch’s padded back and gripped it desperately, Glory saw Biddy emerge from her bedroom and come bustling and tying her wrapper over her ample waist. “Glory! What is it, child?” Then she called over her shoulder. “Riley, come quick. There’s something the matter with Glory. Riley!”

  Footsteps thudded down the stairs, accompanied by Riley’s cry of “I’m coming. I heard her. Get Glory and get down, Biddy. Stay away from the door.”

  The door. Glory jerked to the door, listening. Nothing. Silence. He was gone. Or was he?

  She turned back to Biddy and saw her in a waddling run, coming fast toward her. She’ll give herself another heart spell. More afraid now for her nanny than herself, Glory shook her head. Her long and heavy hair swished about her face and shoulders. “No,” she cried out, running to the plump woman and grabbing her by her arms. “Biddy, do as Riley says. Get down. He could have a gun.”

  Biddy lurched to a stop and clutched at Glory. Puffing in and out, she managed to gasp out, “A gun? Who? Riley?”

  “No, Biddy, the bad man outside. Now come on with me.” With that, Glory began tugging a suddenly befuddled-looking Biddy with her around to the other side of the couch. At that moment, Riley sprinted past them, startling a whoop of surprise out of Biddy. Dressed the same as he’d been earlier, but with his Colt gripped in his fist now, he slowed only as he approached the door.

  Slinking into a shadowed corner, he disappeared in a way that raised the hairs on Glory’s arms. The man outside had done that—come at her from out of nowhere. In a split second, Riley emerged as a silhouette which became a solid man with his back to the wall. He slid along it to the first window. Only when he was in place there, his gun raised, did he look over at her. “How many?”

  “One. He tried to hurt me, Riley.” Her chin quivered. “Be careful.”

  “He’s the one who better be careful.” His tone of voice—as cold and hollow as the wind—chilled Glory to the bone. The sound of him cocking his pistol carried to Glory’s ears.

  She closed her eyes and exhaled. Please, dear God, watch over him, she prayed. Only when Biddy’s hand closed over hers did Glory realize she’d clutched her nanny’s arm at some point. Suddenly needing her solace as much as she had when she was a little girl, Glory fell into Biddy’s grandmotherly arms. “I was so scared,” she whispered and sobbed.

  “There, there, child, I know ye were,” Biddy soothed, just as quietly. “But yer fine now.” Then she cupped Glory’s chin, forcing her tear-dampened face up to her concerned, apple-cheeked one. “Ye are … fine, aren’t ye, Glory Bea? That man didn’t … take ye against yer will, did he?”

  Glory shook her head, then jerked tautly, same as Biddy, when the lock bolt was jammed free and the door slammed against the inside wall. Jumping, clutching at Biddy’s wrapper, Glory saw Riley crouched in the open space, his arms extended, his Colt waving this way and then that. Glory’s breath caught in her throat. A tense moment passed, when even the mantel clock didn’t seem to tick-tock.

  Then Riley relaxed, released the Colt’s hammer, straightened up, and turned to them. “Whoever it was, he’s gone.”

  “Thank the sweet Lord,” Biddy entoned. “I thought me heart would pop right outta me chest.”

  Over her initial fright, and with nagging questions swirling in her head, Glory kept one eye on Riley as she pulled away from Biddy, freed her own nightshirt’s tangling folds from under her knees, and stood. She then helped Biddy do the same while watching Riley close and lock the door. Looking her in the eye now, he stuck his pistol in his waistband and said, “You two go to Biddy’s room and lock the door. Stay in there until I come back.”

  Glory frowned at his words. “Where are you going? Surely, not out there, not knowing where—”

  His hand raised, halting her flow of words, Riley started for the stairs. “Don’t argue. Get to Biddy’s room with her, Glory, and stay put. Do it. Now.”

  An angry protest poised on her lips, Glory jerked in his direction. But Biddy’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Do as he says. ’Tis a man’s place now.”

  A man’s place? Glory’s bottom lip poked out as she watched Riley take the stairs two at a time. We’ll see. She freed herself from Biddy’s grip and took the older woman’s arm, walking her to her downstairs bedroom. Once she’d ensconced her nanny in her bed and settled her covers around her, Glory feigned a look of surprised remembrance. “I just recalled something very important about … that man outside. I must tell Riley before he goes outside.”

  “Then go, child. Run. Catch him.”

  Momentarily startled—no sermon, no questions, no nagging—Glory stared at Biddy. And then spun away from her, held her nightshirt’s hem up, and dashed for the door. Just before she closed the door from the outside, she poked her head back in. “Keep this closed, Biddy. I’ll be right back.”

  She then closed the door and took off for the stairs, like Riley had—taking them two at a time. Once upstairs, puffing from her exertion, she took determined strides toward the smoky lantern-light spilling into the hall from Riley’s bedroom. Stopping just short of the open door, Glory steeled herself with a chest-expanding breath. Then, fisting her hands at her sides, she turned into the open doorway, spied Riley, and spoke in a level no-nonsense tone. Men seemed
to respect that. “I’m going out there with you.”

  Seated on his bed, tugging his boots on by the mule-ear straps, Riley looked up at her. “No you’re not.”

  Glory stifled her first inclination to stomp her foot and yell. Childish behavior. A man wouldn’t do that. She took another deep breath and a step inside the room. “Yes I am. This ranch is my place, I’m responsible for everything that happens here, and I’m the one who was attacked.”

  Riley stood up, stomped his feet to settle his boots, and smoothed his hands down his denim-covered thighs to straighten his jeans. He eyed her and then reached for a heavy chambray shirt draped over the back of a caneback chair. “You’re not going.”

  Glory bit down on her tongue until she believed she tasted blood. Be calm, even-tempered. Watching him slip his arms into his shirt and shrug it across his shoulders, watching him button it—all while ignoring her—Glory wondered why exactly it was she thought she had to be in here telling him she was going. Why didn’t she just do what he was doing—get dressed and go? Quirking her mouth with her decision, one she didn’t intend to share with him, she turned on her heel. She’d just get dressed and grab a gun from the case in Papa’s office and—

  Riley gripped her arm and spun her around. “That was too easy. What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

  Glory wrenched her arm free. “I could ask you the same thing. And another thing, how do you know who you’re hunting? I’m the one he attacked.”

  Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know who it was? Did you see his face?”

  Glory’s defiant posture slipped as she admitted, “No.”

  “Then tell me how you’d find him.”

  Her mouth insisted on twitching with her lack of definite answers. Then she blurted, “Well, you tell me how you’re going to do it.”

  Riley’s clenched jaw worked as he cut his anger-glittered gaze to a far wall. Glory could tell he waged an internal battle for control. Finally he looked back down at her. “I’m wasting time here, Glory. The man could be to the border by now.”