He watched her, mesmerized.
She stopped in front of him, her eyes shimmering in the dying afternoon light. He could hear her breath coming in small waves, and the scent of her soap seemed to waft over him in a soft cloud. It was like balm to his soul.
There was no doubt: he wanted her. Dammit, but he wanted her.
Slowly, he reached out and drew her to him, into the circle of his arms. She said nothing, but he felt the tension in her limbs ease as he ran one hand across her shoulders. He ran his hand up to the base of her neck and began pulling at the pins that held her hair, letting them fall to the floor, and she didn’t resist. Her hair was thick and heavy in his fingers.
He felt her shudder, and he stopped and raised her chin. “I haven’t—”
“Shh,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips to her hair and inhaled the fragrance of it. “I never thought I’d want to touch another woman. Or trust myself to want another woman. Then, you looked up at me.”
“And I never thought I’d want to feel another man’s touch.”
He heard her sigh, and he lowered his face to her neck to kiss her lightly. She did not pull away, and it thrilled him; sent a river of desire rushing through him.
He’d forgotten what being with a woman could feel like—the surging joy that was almost pain. “Della,” he said. “Della.”
She pulled back. Not in anger or resistance, but gently. Her blue eyes seemed to ask a question.
He scanned the wisps of curl that encircled her sculpted face, and then, slowly, deliberately, gently, he kissed her.
****
In his arms, she felt radiant. She felt protected and radiant.
His kiss was slow and deep and she wanted more. More?
Della slipped her arms around his neck. “This is preposterous,” she whispered. “I’m a hussy. A hussy.”
“No,” returned McMurray. “You are Athena. Or Aphrodite. Goddess of love.”
She giggled. “Definitely not Aphrodite. Or Athena.”
He smiled.
She peered up into his dark eyes, searching them. “James?”
“Yes?”
She sighed. “Just trying it on, so to speak.”
He smiled again. “Hmmm, I like it.”
She smiled, too, until she peeked over his shoulder at where Carson still slept. “He will be waking soon.”
McMurray—rather, James—nodded and released her. “Okay. But do not think I am letting you go for long,” he teased.
“You’d compromise my reputation?” she teased back.
“Never,” he said, growing serious. “My intentions are honorable.”
****
It was two weeks later that Leroy Baines appeared at Della’s door. The sudden, fierce pounding against the front door startled her.
Having just stepped inside the kitchen, she pulled the back door shut and locked it. Although it was nearly nine o’clock in the morning, it was dark in the kitchen because of the heavy November clouds that had gathered overnight. Hopefully, Leroy wouldn’t spot her through the lace curtain that hung over the front window.
With her apron full of eggs, she looked around, trying to think of what she should do. She slid the eggs into a basket by the door as carefully as she could, but one egg smashed to the floor before she could rescue it. She glanced down, but let it lay.
Jonathon’s pistol was upstairs, tucked under her mattress. She had never wanted to keep it in view after he passed, in spite of being alone so often, but suddenly, she wished she had a gun here, in the kitchen. In her hand.
The pounding continued. She jumped, her heart thumping nearly as loudly in her ears.
Was Mrs. Kerrigan in calling distance? She hesitated, remembering that she hadn’t seen her when she’d been outside, and as late in the morning as it was, she knew she was inside her house, out of range.
When she heard the sound of the front door opening, Della froze. She had to do something! Picking up her carving knife, she rushed to the pantry and locked herself inside.
The silence was oppressive as she waited, knife in hand, for the appearance of Leroy Baines. If only McMurray—James—was here. He’d left before sunup, as was his custom now, and probably wouldn’t return for hours. Carson was in school, as was Miss Niblack.
Even stodgy Mr. Whitehouse was nowhere to be found. He’d moved out just two days earlier, his business taking him further west.
The sound of footfalls sent another shiver down Della’s back and she crouched lower, sliding a bucket of onions between her and the pantry door. She closed her eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered just behind her lids. Oh, she thought suddenly, what a fool she was! She should have run out of the back door and down the lane to town. Even if he’d pursued her, she might have outrun him.
She pressed the knife to her breast, listening for Leroy’s blustering cry as beads of perspiration built along the back of her neck. It was so hot in the dark, dank space that she feared she’d be sick if she had to stay hidden much longer.
Finally, she heard the sound of the back door opening and closing, followed by the muted sound of a man cursing. She sighed and stood up then pushed the door open and staggered out. Relieved and spent, she dropped the knife to the floor and plopped down on an old stool near the back door. Her breath came in short puffs as she tried to steady her breathing.
When the door flew open, she gasped. Too late, she realized she’d made a serious mistake.
“You bitch!”
She jumped up, but Leroy Baines, his eyes wide and wild, lunged at her before she could run.
She screamed and scrambled out of his grasp, falling to the floor in a tangled heap. “Get away!” she cried. She slapped at the drunken man’s hands, and—remembering—started toward the knife on the floor. He’d obviously not seen it yet, but struggle as she did, she could not keep him off of her.
He slapped her once, then twice.
“Ach!” she sobbed. “Get off me!”
“You’re gonna pay, bitch,” he snarled. “I told you you was, and I hold to my promises!”
His hands were large and rough and, in spite of his years and his state of mind, he was agile. He grabbed her by the hair and began dragging her toward the door. “You thought you’d get away with stealin’ my boy? Don’t you know you don’t never wanna disturb a sleepin’ rattler?”
Della squirmed and dragged her feet, twisting against the man’s iron grip. Finally, she got hold of the stool and jerked. It fell against her, and she cried out. Still she held onto it, letting it fall across her so that its length barred the door as Leroy tried to pull her over the rough wooden stoop.
She screamed for help, for James, for anyone—her cries rising up out of her gut and filling the space between them.
Leroy cursed loudly, laughing at her predicament as he kicked the stool aside and grabbed at her legs. With her dress up around her belly and the rough gravel burning the flesh on her legs, she sobbed, “Let me go! Let me—”
****
The gunshot reverberated around her as Leroy’s curses turned to cries of pain. Terrified, she pulled herself free of his grasp and tried to crawl away. She shrieked when hands grabbed her by the shoulders.
“No, please—” she whimpered.
“Della!” McMurray’s voice was a hoarse whisper and she turned in response to it, throwing her arms around his neck as she shook from head to foot.
“I—I should have run,” she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder. “I had a chance to, but I was so afraid—I didn’t know what to do!”
“Shhh,” McMurray said, stroking her hair and holding her close. “Mrs. Kerrigan spotted Buddy and heard the commotion—so she came running into town. I knew—I just knew—it had to be Baines.”
“Buddy? What—?”
McMurray broke in, “He’s okay. He’s with Mrs. Kerrigan.”
“But—”
“He was kicked and beaten up pretty bad, but he’ll make it.”
She p
ressed her face deeper into McMurray’s shoulder, stifling the cries that threatened to spill over. “Thank God. Oh, thank God.”
“He’s a tough critter,” McMurray said. “Dragged himself over to Mrs. Kerrigan’s door, whining and whimpering. She knew something had to be wrong.”
“I didn’t think anyone would hear me,” Della whispered. “I thought he’d kill me, for sure.”
“Well, he won’t bother you now,” returned McMurray after a pause.
Della pulled back. “He’s—dead?”
McMurray’s silence stilled her racing heart. She didn’t dare look past him. She didn’t want to see Leroy Baines. Instead, she closed her eyes and once more buried her face into his shoulder. “What about Carson?”
McMurray pressed his hand to the back of her head and hushed her. His woolen shirt was rough against her cheek as he cradled her closer to him, and the mingled smells of burnt iron and sweat filled her senses. “Mrs. Kerrigan headed down to the schoolhouse to fetch him—and Miss Niblack. Then she was headed to the sheriff—”
Della nodded then slowly opened her eyes. Leroy Baines lay sprawled across her yard, his eyes wide open, his mouth gaping. Blood had soaked into the dirt around him from a wound to his chest.
Stunned by the violence still reflected in his expression, she looked away.
An eerie silence had settled over her yard. Even her hens—normally noisy and busy—seemed strangely silent and subdued. She began to shake again.
“It wasn’t that I was trying to kill him,” McMurray said, glancing over at the dead man. “I saw you, I saw him, and I fired.”
Suddenly, the tears she had fought so hard to repress came with a vengeance. She shuddered and wondered if she were actually going to faint.
****
“Della?”
McMurray pulled the chair closer to the bed where he’d carried Della after she fainted. But she wasn’t coming to, and he worried that more might be wrong.
He leaned forward and let his gaze settle on her face. It was a beautiful, strong face, and yet right now she appeared as vulnerable as a young child.
It was clear she carried herself with more grit than most women, he thought, but he wondered if she had sunk into a pit of his making.
He probably shouldn’t have shot to kill. As much as he tried to tell Della that he hadn’t, truth be told—he had. When he saw Leroy dragging a half-clothed Della over the stoop and threshold, screaming curses and hissing like an alley cat, he didn’t stop to think. He reacted instinctively, and after the three years he’d spent in the army as a sharpshooter, there was only one natural shot to take.
But, he wasn’t going to tell Della that. It would hurt her unnecessarily. And after today, that was something he’d work hard to never do again, for clearly he’d never loved anyone like this. Never understood how deep love could go—or how painful it could be once you recognized it.
He reached out and touched her face. Her pale skin seemed so much paler in the afternoon light, but her breathing was strong and steady. That was a relief.
Just then, she moaned and turned her face toward him. Slowly, her eyes opened and she looked up at him. A slow smile edged its way across her face. “What happened?” she whispered.
“You fainted.”
She raised her brows as if to question him. “I’ve never fainted before.”
He shrugged. “First time for everything.”
“I guess,” she said. She pulled her arms out from under the cover he’d spread over her and reached for him.
He smiled as he moved closer.
“I—I was so terrified,” she whispered. “All I could think about was—was you,” she added.
“I’m glad,” he said. “I’d hate for this to be a one-sided affair.”
“Affair?” she asked, her eyes round with concern. “Are you married then? I never thought to ask—”
He chuckled. “No, never been married. Never wanted to be married, especially to the women I’ve courted,” he added sharply.
“Oh, so this is to be a real affair, between you and me?”
He slid a hand under her shoulders and raised her up just enough to bring her even closer. “Absolutely not. I’m marrying you before you can decide to run.”
“And when, pray tell, did you figure we’d do this—this marrying thing?” she teased. “We’ve only known each other three weeks.”
He shrugged. “People have married after less time than that…but how about in time for Christmas?”
She smiled. “That’s just five weeks away.”
“So it is,” returned McMurray.
“You know,” said Della, pulling herself up to a sitting position. “I’ve had another proposal—”
“Which you refused.”
Della raised her brows haughtily. “How do you know that?”
He laughed. “Why, from Mrs. Kerrigan. She told me just last week that a Mr. Felix Freshour has had designs on you, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is whether you’re going to marry me.”
“And I have to make the decision now?” asked Della.
“Yes,” he whispered, “because I have every intention of climbing into this bed with you and if I do, I have to make an honest woman out of you.”
Della pushed him away then with a deep-throated laugh. “I can hear men downstairs,” she snapped. “All I have to do is yell and they’ll come to my rescue.”
“Those men are cleaning up the mess I made,” said McMurray. “I don’t think they’ll concern themselves with us upstairs.”
Della fell silent. “I don’t know,” she said. “It seems—irreverent to talk like this while Leroy—”
McMurray took her hands in his. “Della, he was not a good man. I never told you what Boyle told me when I went to him after that first attack—”
“What?”
He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. Even after everything that happened that day, her hands still smelled clean and sweet. He took a slow deliberate breath. “The sheriff is convinced that Leroy Baines killed his own son Henry when the two of them fought over a mining claim—”
“What? No!”
“Henry Baines was reported missing more than six months ago—”
“Just about the time Carson came to live with Leroy.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, poor Carson. Does the sheriff think Carson knew?”
“I don’t know,” McMurray said. “He did say that Carson was afraid of his grandfather, and even Mrs. Kerrigan, who we both know knows everything, suspected that Carson might have seen more than he ever said.”
When he saw that Della could not hold back her tears, he sat down on the bed beside her and drew her into his arms. “Remember, Della, Carson is fortunate to have found you,” he said. “Perhaps he is the son you were meant to have.”
She raised her tear-stained face to his. “Do you think so?” she asked, her blue eyes blinking back more tears.
She relaxed in his embrace then and, without holding back, he slowly lowered his face to hers and kissed away each tear. “You were meant to be a mother.”
She caught her breath. “You can’t know how much that means to me.”
“You were meant to be a wife, too, Della. That’s why I’m asking you to marry me.”
“But—”
“Marry me. Let me be the father Carson needs and the husband you deserve.”
Della didn’t respond for a long moment, but then, sitting up, she seemed to gather herself. “Yes.”
“Yes?” McMurray returned quickly. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she said.
He kissed her again. This time the kiss deepened and she moaned softly.
“Hmm,” she crooned, pulling away to look at him directly. “And when will this marriage take place?”
“Why, on Christmas, of course,” said McMurray, taking her by the hand and helping her to her feet. “It’s a perfect way to celebrate the holiday. Our gift to each other and to Carson.”
She took a deep breath. “Well, alright, Mr. McMurray.” She giggled. “It looks as if you have yourself a Christmas bride.”
About the Author—Gail L. Jenner
Gail L. Jenner is the wife of a fourth generation cattle rancher. They live on the original family homestead where history is part of everyday life. A former history and English teacher, Gail is the author of five regional nonfiction histories (published by Arcadia Publishing and Old American Publishing), and two novels, including the WILLA Award-winning novel, ACROSS THE SWEET GRASS HILLS. Her story “Valentine Angel” can be found in the anthology COWBOY KISSES.
Gail and her husband have three married children and seven grandchildren. A gardener and cook, she enjoys cooking for ranch hands, family, and friends. In addition to all of this, she enjoys time on the ranch— working cows on horseback or working as her husband’s sidekick. In her spare time, she is a partner in Jenner Family Beef and works as a volunteer librarian, museum curator, and appears as a speaker at local and regional educational and writing workshops.
For more about Gail, visit: www.gailjenner.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Gail-L-Jenner
http://gailjenner.blogspot.com
http://www.jennerfamilybeef.com/bios-the-jenner-cowgirls.html#gail
Also by Gail L.Jenner
July’s Bride
July Chandler doesn’t need another wife, but when Amanda Hoffman comes west as a “mail order bride” to marry him, sparks fly when she is hired to nurse his young son after an accident. It isn’t long before the confusion over the arrangement becomes clear to all...but is it too late for them to find love amid the chaos? Amanda suddenly finds she has other choices, but she only wants to become JULY'S BRIDE.
Across the Sweet Grass Hills
Liza Ralston has had more adventure in her life than she ever wanted. Leaving her settled existence with friends and family in St. Louis to travel to the Big Sky country of wild Montana with her father, she soon wishes she could turn the clock back. When their scout is murdered and her father is severely wounded by thieves, the Pikuni tribe led by Crying Wind takes them in. But Liza wants nothing more than to return to St. Louis, despite her growing attraction for Red Eagle, the handsome son of a white trapper and Blackfeet mother.
Just in Time for Christmas Page 4