by Jillian Hart
She shivered clear to her soul. Emotion welled up in her heart, a thousand powerful feelings too difficult to name. Her eyes burned, her throat ached. Her past, her sorrows, her regrets lifted from her shoulders, leaving her changed. New. She had to clear her throat and find her voice, for it was her turn to speak. “I, Mariah Elizabeth Scott take thee, Nicholas Adam Gray to be my husband.”
Husband. She stumbled over the word. She was really here. She was marrying him, and he squeezed her hands, encouraging her, his kind, steady touch a silent reassurance. He wanted her. Her, and no one else. Tears blurred her vision as she spoke her vows, the words slipping past her lips, promising to love, honor and obey him, to cherish him for the rest of her life.
Oh, she would. With all her heart. With all her soul. She wasn’t going to be alone anymore.
Nick lifted their joined hands and brushed at her cheek with his thumb. The pad of his thumb came away wet with her tears.
“You okay?” he whispered as the minister spoke.
“Fine.” More than fine. Her heart, so cold and frozen, felt like a pond cracking at the season’s first thaw. Tiny little cracks radiating from the outside in. Hurting with the pressure of the coming spring.
Suddenly the ceremony was over, the minister pronouncing them man and wife. “You may kiss the bride.”
They were married. Mariah watched Nick smile as he wiped away the last of her tears. Never wavering, never uncertain, he leaned forward. She caught her breath. She didn’t know what to do. She’d never been kissed. What if she disappointed him?
Then his mouth slanted over hers, his top lip fitting gently against the seam of hers. He felt like heated velvet and tasted like passion. The caress of his mouth thrilled through her like lightning crackling across a midnight sky. He pulled away, leaving her mouth abandoned and tingling.
I want him to do that again. But he was turning away to give the minister a tip for his services. Betsy hopped up from the pew, dark curls bobbing around her smiling face.
“I can’t believe it. You’re married now.” Betsy wrapped her in a warm hug. “And to the most eligible bachelor in five counties. You did well, my friend.”
“I’m shaking like a leaf caught in a twister.” It was over, and she and Nick were wed, so why was she trembling like this?
“Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine. Rayna didn’t come because she was busy with a surprise. Gather up your new husband and make him take you home. To your new home.”
Betsy understood. What else were good friends for? Mariah blinked hard, unable to say the words. Her own home. Her own family. Her own husband.
Look at him, standing there so wonderful, looking no different than he ever did. But he was different. He was hers. The man she would take care of for the rest of her life. It would be his bed she slept in. He would be the man she reached out to at night when the lamps were blown out and silence filled the house. He would teach her the pleasure made between a man and a woman. He would father the baby she would carry one day.
A bright warmth sparked to life inside her, right behind her breastbone. A strange warmth that made her chest ache and her throat fill. It hurt and made her glad all at once when Nick turned from the minister, smiled at her, and held out his hand.
She placed her left hand against his calloused palm, her wedding band glinting new and flawless in the muted light.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
Home. Nothing had ever held such importance. Unless it was the tenderness in Nick’s touch as his fingers threaded through hers and held tight.
His kiss. It was all she thought about sitting beside him in the front seat of the surrey, while her wedding ring sparkled in the warm sunshine. Nick’s kiss. The heat of his lips, the caress of his mouth. The thrill that arced through her from head to toe. Her first kiss ever. It had been wonderful. Fantastic. She’d never dreamed the simple brush of a man’s lips could be so…fascinating.
No wonder the women in her social circle whispered in delight. And to think that was only a kiss! What would it be like to lie in his arms at night, against his strong chest, skin to skin? What would it be like to be loved completely? Tonight she was going to find out. She shivered, afraid and curious all at once.
“Are you cold?” Nick’s baritone slashed through her thoughts like a well-honed blade. “That shawl you’re wearing looks pretty thin. I’ll give you my coat.”
“No, I’m fine—” She wasn’t cold in the slightest, but how could she tell him that? The weight of his wool jacket settled over her shoulders, smelling of wind and leather and Nick. A pleasant combination that took her breath away.
“That better? There’s a nip in that wind. Can’t have my wife getting cold.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” She ran her fingertips over the soft wool, thumbing the fine stitching at the hem. “I can take care of myself.”
“I see. It’s going to be like that, is it?” He glanced at her sideways, beneath the brim of his hat. “You’re going to fight me every step of the way?”
“Fight you? I’m not fighting you. You simply didn’t need to give me your coat. I—”
“Mariah.” His hand covered hers and even through the leather warm from his skin, she could feel the jolt of awareness that passed between them like the crackle of static in the air before a storm. “Let’s get this straight. I know you can take care of yourself. That’s why I married you.”
“It is?” She bit her lip to hold back her thoughts so she wouldn’t do something foolish such as speak without thinking. He’d married her because of their past together, right? For that one brief moment in time when they were both different people, younger and naive and hopeful. He’d married her because he wanted her, right?
Her chest pounded as she waited for his answer. Waited for him to reassure her. To tell her that she meant something to him.
“You are the strongest woman I know.” He took his hand from hers, breaking their touch, turning his attention to the road ahead. “You can take care of yourself, so I know you can take good care of my children.”
He doesn’t mean that the way it sounds. But she wasn’t sure at all. Nick sat beside her, as stoic as stone. Her pulse throbbed in her temples as seconds passed, stretching endlessly. Had she made a mistake? Had she misunderstood?
Then he smiled at her, his eyes warming as his gaze found hers with a jolt of awareness. Her every nerve ending tingled, as if he had touched her. And she knew what he wasn’t saying. That he needed her.
She felt as bright as the sun above in a perfect blue sky.
“Let’s get another thing straight.” He guided the horses off the main road and onto the well-tended driveway that cut between the fields and neat, split-rail fencing. “I know you’re an independent sort and as strong as can be. But I’m your husband, so you ought to let me care for you. Got that?”
“You care for me?”
“Sure. It’s my job. I just pledged my allegiance to you before God.”
“Allegiance? That’s to the flag.”
“Well, then I promised my entire life to you. Just to you, Mariah. I’ve been here before, and I know what this means. Marriage will only work if we do things together. You take care of me. I take care of you. It’ll be a far sight better than the lives we’ve been living alone. What do you say?”
“I could be coerced.”
“Good. Then we’ve got a deal.”
It felt like a weakness, and she should be ashamed of it, the way she yearned for his affection. She didn’t need anyone. Not even Nick Gray. She could stand on her own two feet. Get a coat or anything else she required.
The edge of Nick’s jacket caught the wind and fluttered. She smoothed it back into place with her fingertips. How warm it felt. How good to have something she didn’t need. She scooted closer to him on the seat, just a few inches.
The prairie winds felt sweet ruffling across her face and lifting her bangs as the surrey rolled up the road on Nick’s land. On her land. This w
as hers now, too. The rolling meadows, the grazing Herefords, the house up ahead, hidden by the draw and roll of the plains. But she knew it was there. Her new home. Her new life. And her stepchildren. Thinking of Georgie and Nick’s somber son made her bones ache with longing. She was a mother. Her chest felt too full to breathe. Nick had done this, made her so happy, and she wasn’t married but twenty-seven minutes.
“Just think I ought to warn you.” Nick leaned close, his words a soft, warm buzz against the outer shell of her ear. “Your friend Rayna came by this morning and took over the kitchen. Something about throwing a big dinner to celebrate. Right in the workweek, too, but I figured you’ve waited a long time for this. If we’re going to celebrate, then we should do it right.”
“Rayna’s at the house?”
“Yep. Kicked me out and told me not to come back until I had my bride with me.”
“She’s fixing dinner for us?”
“Not just a dinner. A celebration. You know. With lots of people. Food. Old man Dayton’s bringing his fiddle.”
“But we just had a dance in town, and it’s planting season and the calves—”
“Look at that.” They’d turned the last bend in the road and the ranch house came into sight, the honeyed logs gleaming warm in the sunlight as if to welcome them home. A dozen vehicles lined the last ten yards of the driveway. It was a damn good sight to see that his neighbors had come to welcome his new wife.
Wife. That was going to take some getting used to. Still, being married to Mariah would be an improvement. At least she wouldn’t be running off on him all times of the night to be with her lover.
He cringed. He couldn’t help it. Lida’s betrayal cut him deep. Still. Even after her death. He was angry and hurt, sad and bitter, and worse, he was a man who hadn’t been able to keep his wife.
Mariah wasn’t Lida. He had to remember that.
Mariah wasn’t the kind of woman to cheat on a man. And he would be grateful to her every day of their lives to come. She was like a sparrow in her plain blue dress and her straw hat. When folks came around the back of the house to greet her, she didn’t put on feigned delight like an actress, as Lida would have done. When Will was the first to extend his hand to help his sister-in-law from the surrey, Mariah didn’t bat her lashes at him. Or smile coyly at Dayton’s grandsons, all strapping young bachelors in their prime. No, instead of basking in the attention, Mariah blushed, studied the ground, and finally turned to him.
To him. Yep, there was no chance she’d be unfaithful. Not one. Pride made him strong as he handed his youngest brother Dakota the reins, circled around the surrey and tucked Mariah’s hand in his. He’d chosen well. Damn well. He settled his free hand on her nape, sneaking beneath the soft fall of her golden hair. Her neck felt small, the round knobs of her vertebrae frail against his palm. She was not so formidable of a woman, after all. But as delicate and as fragile as any human being.
Tenderness ached in the cold shadows of his heart. Tenderness he didn’t want to feel.
“Congratulations!” Rayna met her at the kitchen door and wrapped her in a warm hug. “To think you are now Mrs. Gray. How does it feel?”
“Different.” Mariah stepped through the entryway, where coats hug on a neat row of pegs, and into the big room. A large white cake, iced and decorated with red spun sugar, sat in the center of the round oak table.
“I can’t believe all this. That you’d come here in the middle of the week with so much work to do.” Mariah swallowed hard. There was a baked ham cooling on the counter and a big pan of baked beans steaming on top of the stove. “Thank you, Rayna.”
“It isn’t every day a woman marries. I’m happy for you. You found a good man. He’s worth the wait.”
“Nick married me out of necessity.”
“Yes, but he married you.”
She still tingled from Nick’s kiss, from his touch, from the regard he showed her as he’d walked her to the back porch. She could see Nick through the large window behind the table, speaking with several of the neighboring ranchers. He was shaking their hands, no doubt, and accepting their many congratulations. Except they didn’t look too happy for him. Several of the ranchers looked very grim.
“Out of here. You’re the guest of honor. You’re not allowed to work.” Rayna escorted her to the door. “Scoot. Go to your husband. This is your wedding day.”
Mariah found herself back on the porch, squinting in the sun. Tables had been set up on the back lawn in the warmth of the sun, and a group of boys raced back and forth, shouting loudly as they played tag. The widows Collins and White were behind the refreshment table, ladling punch into glass cups. Maybe she ought to go over there to see if they could use some help.
“…that spinster? What could he want with her?” a woman’s voice rose above the din.
Mariah whirled toward the sound. Three of the local rancher’s wives were huddled together, their backs to her, so they were unaware she was standing right behind them. But that didn’t excuse their words. She turned away, determined not to listen. But the conversation seemed to follow her with every step.
“…can’t see why any man would marry her…”
“…maybe he got her pregnant and had to propose…”
“…couldn’t believe my ears when I heard the news…”
Mariah kept walking. She was thick-skinned. She could handle a little gossip. It wouldn’t be the first unkind words she’d ever heard and probably not the last. Folks were bound to wonder why Nick had chosen her.
Nick. Her senses stirred at the sight of him standing a half head taller than the other men, his dark hair ruffling in the wind. Her fingers itched to smooth that thick hair into place. As if he could feel her, he turned, spotting her immediately, as if he was drawn to her and no one else.
He didn’t smile or blink or nod in recognition, but she knew his intent even before he took the first step toward her, as steadfast and as invincible as a Greek myth, carved in stone and made immortal by legend. She knew before he cupped her jaw in the palm of his hand what he was going to say, as if he were a part of her.
“Hello, pretty lady. What do you say about going driving with me on Sunday?”
“The last time you asked me that question, you were a bit younger.”
“Heck, I was still wet behind the ears. But you, Mariah. You still smell like lilacs.”
“Are you protesting? Or approving?”
“Approving. It always was my favorite.”
“Is that so? You’re attempting to be charming, and it’s not going to work.”
“Then I’ll have to try harder.”
There was a part of her that could still dream, and she could feel it, the yearning to lean a little harder against Nick’s chest, safe and snug in his arms, and never let him go. To let him kiss her the way he had in the church, with a caress that left her senseless and breathless and dazed. That made her blood heat like water on a hot stove.
He leaned close and breathed deep. “Yep. Lilacs.”
She shuddered to the marrow of her bones. Tingles danced down her spine as she studied the curve of his mouth. His kiss. She wanted to feel it more than anything. Just lean forward, she wished. She didn’t care if everyone was watching or how improper it would be in front of all these guests. All she wanted was the heat of his lips and the velvet caress of his mouth against hers.
Tonight, he’ll do more to me than kiss me. Tonight was her wedding night. She would finally know what made her friends blush as they whispered of the marriage bed. Of the pleasures a man could give a woman. Of the love.
Nick’s jaw brushed hers. Against her heated skin, she could feel his, even hotter, rough with a day’s growth. His breath was hot as sin against the shell of her ear.
“Are you hungry, Mrs. Gray?”
She burned like a newly lit flame.
With everyone watching, Nick took her by the arm and led her past the rancher’s wives to the head of the table.
Over the scrape of for
ks on dessert plates as twilight began to set, old man Dayton picked up his fiddle. The first tender notes of the waltz lifted into the air above the chatter and laughter at the board tables where her new neighbors pushed off the bench seats.
“Dance with me, Mariah.” He said it just like that, his whisper a warm caress against her cheek.
His hand settled on her back in the space between her shoulder blades, a warm steady pressure that did not fade as she stood. His touch remained, guiding her to the center of the yard, where the neighbors stood in a wide circle as they waited for the newlyweds to begin the first dance.
The pleasant brush of his chin settled against her brow. “This seems familiar.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not a chance.” He fit his hand around the back of her head, cradling her, gently pressing her face to the hollow of his throat. “From this day on, I will waltz only with you.”
It was as if time stood still and the earth spun backward, taking time and a decade of heartache with it, making her new. Giving her the chance to try again. As if Nick felt this, too, his fingers at her nape tightened. It was a wonderful sensation, pulling her more tightly against him. As close as they could be, only clothing separated them.
I want to love him, her heart whispered, the most secret part of her heart. The hidden corner where not even her father’s cruel words over the years had been able to touch. There was a part of her that could still dream, and she could feel it now, yearning to love Nick with all she was worth. Nick, her husband.
“How does it feel to be married to me?” he asked.
“I haven’t found cause to complain yet.”
“You just wait for tomorrow morning.” His chuckle began in him and rumbled through her. “You’ll be cooking for the whole lot of us, and we eat breakfast at four-thirty.”
“Funny how you neglected to tell me this before the ceremony.”
“Yep. I was afraid you’d change your mind, and then where would I be?”
“Frying your own bacon.”
“No, I’d be starving because I can’t cook.”