Ruth Langan

by The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree

  He absorbed the heat of her touch. Pleasure curled through him, softening his words. “Just lucky. Here, Benjamin.” He handed over the reins of his horse to his son. “See that Blue gets an extra portion of oats tonight. And a good rubdown.”

  His son shot him a look of surprise. “Yes, sir.”

  Clement took the reins from Aaron’s hands and got the same instructions.

  Just then Matt’s gaze was caught by an extension in the wall of the barn.

  “What in the hell is that?”

  Izzy winced as the children replied, “Our new chicken coop. Come on, Pa. We’ll show you.”

  “A chicken coop?” Matt strolled closer, and the others followed.

  “Isabella said we were losing too many eggs in the barn,” Del explained happily. “So we all worked together to lash some logs together to make a lean-to against the side of the barn.” The little girl pulled the latch, lifting the small door that allowed the chickens to enter and exit. “See, Pa. We even built a perch, so the hens could roost up there.”

  “I built the perch myself,” Clement said proudly.

  “I see.” Matt was staring at his children, seeing the pleasure and pride.

  “Isabella said I could probably sell some of my eggs at Sutton’s Station, Pa. She said my chickens could help pay our bills. Isn’t that right, Isabella?”

  Izzy nodded. “I don’t see why not. After all, everyone has a taste for eggs. And not everyone has a fine big coop for raising chickens. Maybe you could even sell some chicks in town to anyone wanting to start their own flock.”

  She felt the heat of Matt’s gaze focused on her with such intensity she was forced to look away when Benjamin said, “Isabella thinks I could sell my honey in town, too. She said everybody gets a sweet tooth now and then.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Isabella says I could probably sell my pelts, Pa.” Clement was fairly twitching with excitement. “She said folks in town would probably pay a lot of money for the chance to make a parka out of mountain cat pelts, or any of the warmer hides that would get them through our cold winters.”

  Matt’s eyes were narrowed on her. One eyebrow was quirked as he studied her.

  “Well.” Izzy drew the word out, playing for time. She wasn’t certain just what that look on Matt’s face meant, but she figured she had probably overstepped her bounds. There was something primitive about him. And more than a little dangerous. He looked the way he had when she’d first arrived. Like a wild mountain man, heavily bearded, bundled into a cowhide jacket, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. There was no way to tell if he was angry or glad. But the way he was watching her made her more than a little nervous.

  She turned toward the cabin to avoid meeting his eyes. “Benjamin, Clement, do as your father said and see to the horses now. Matthew, Aaron, I’m sure you two will be wanting some supper.”

  “Now, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in days, Isabella.” Aaron dropped an arm around his little sister, and the two followed Izzy to the cabin.

  Matt remained at the barn a few minutes longer, staring at the lopsided coop. But it wasn’t the sagging building he was seeing. Or the hope and enthusiasm Isabella had planted in his children’s minds, though that had clearly impressed him.

  It was the sway of her hips as she’d walked away.

  Damnation, maybe he’d been on the trail too long. Maybe he was allowing himself to imagine that somehow things had magically changed. That she would emerge from that shell of fear and suddenly open her arms wide to make him welcome. But he hadn’t imagined that touch. Or the admiration in her tone.

  Or the pains she’d taken to impress him.

  Maybe after supper he’d take a long, leisurely bath. And shave off his beard. And sleep in his own bed. With his wife.

  He started toward the cabin, whistling a little tune.

  “I’ve been thinking about these biscuits a long time.” Aaron mopped up the gravy on his plate, then reached for yet another biscuit. “Haven’t you, Pa?”

  Matt nodded and ate in silence.

  While they ate, Benjamin, Clement and Del sat at the table, listening to Aaron’s account of the past week.

  “I guess we traveled fifteen, maybe twenty miles a day.” Aaron paused, chewed, swallowed.

  “Where’d you sleep?” Clement asked.

  “Near a creek one night. On a rock ledge another. We seemed to be heading higher every day. I think our old stallion Red wanted to get his mares high up in the mountains where they’d be safe till spring.”

  “I bet you were cold,” Del said.

  “Nah.” Aaron took his role as hero to his little sister seriously. He wouldn’t admit to being cold if his feet froze off. “We had our bedrolls. And we slept close to the fire.”

  “Don’t you ever get lost?” Izzy stood at the fireplace, turning potatoes in a blackened skillet, stirring dumplings in a pot of stew.

  “Not with Pa along. He knows these mountains better’n anyone. Don’t you, Pa?”

  Matt barely nodded as he continued eating. It was taking all his willpower to keep from staring at his wife’s hips as she moved around the fire.

  Izzy turned. “Do you have room for seconds?”

  “Yes’m.” Aaron held out his plate and she ladled more food.

  “Matthew?”

  He held out his plate.

  After emptying the kettle, she wrapped a towel around the handle of the battered coffeepot and lifted it from the fire. Matt breathed in the soft woman scent of her while she paused beside him to fill his cup.

  Across the table Aaron sipped his milk. “How’d you get this so cold?”

  Benjamin spoke up. “Isabella lowered a crock of milk down in the well. She said that keeps it from curdling.”

  “That’s really smart, isn’t it, Pa?” Aaron wiped his upper lip. “I wonder why we didn’t think of that.”

  “It’s nothing.” Izzy lifted the crock and poured another glass for him. “Folks in Pennsylvania have been doing that during the heat of summer for years.”

  “I still think it’s real smart of you, Isabella. Isn’t it, Pa?”

  Matt gave a sigh of impatience. The boy was as transparent as that window, which was cleaner than he’d ever seen before. It was obvious that Aaron was trying his darnedest to get his father to mouth some silly words of praise.

  Ignoring the pointed question, he shoved back his chair and got to his feet. “That was a fine meal, Isabella.” He saw her flush with pleasure. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll check on the mustangs. Then I’d like a bath before I turn in.” He shot a meaningful glance at his children. “It’s been a long week. Aaron and I need our rest.”

  Before he had time to pull on his jacket and hat, Aaron was herding his brothers and sister up the ladder to the loft.

  Izzy deposited the dishes in a pan of hot water and proceeded to wash and dry them. Then she filled the kettle with water and placed it on the fire.

  By the time Matt returned from the barn, a tub of warm water had been set in front of the fire. On a chair beside it was a glob of lye soap and several thick towels, as well as his straight razor.

  A slow smile began to spread across his face as he glanced at the closed door of the bedroom, then at the tub of water. Isabella was certainly making every effort to accommodate him.

  He stripped off his shirt and lathered his face, then shaved away the heavy growth of beard. Then he nudged off his boots, peeled away the rest of his clothes and sank gratefully into the tub.

  He wanted to wash slowly, to take his time and enjoy this rare luxury. But the thought of what was awaiting him in the other room had him hurrying. He soaped himself, then worked his hair into a lather and ducked beneath the water. When he came up for air, he stood, the water sheeting off him as he reached for a towel. Minutes later he had the towel tied around his waist and was striding purposefully toward the bedroom.

  Izzy lay in the bed, her heart thumping, he
r palms sweating. She’d had an entire week to prepare for this moment. If sheer determination was enough, she was bound to succeed.

  She had taken the time to wash herself and even to apply a drop of the precious rose water she had brought from Pennsylvania. Her night shift had been freshly washed, her hair brushed until it crackled.

  She had coaxed stories from the children, learning all she could about Matthew Prescott. And though they couldn’t or wouldn’t offer much in the way of family history, she had heard the love and respect in their voices when they spoke of their father. It was Benjamin who had told of the time Matthew had once turned back to town when he was better than halfway home, because he’d discovered that Webster Sutton had given him back too much money after paying for his supplies.

  “But why didn’t he just wait and return the money the next time he went to town?” she asked.

  “Because,” Benjamin said solemnly, “Pa knew that Mr. Sutton doesn’t have much. And that money might leave him unable to pay his bills when he needed more supplies.”

  It was Clement who told her of the time that Matt, despite his dislike of towns and people, had once risked his own life to search for a hunting party trapped in an early autumn blizzard atop the mountain.

  “Nobody knows these mountains like our pa,” Clement said proudly. “But when they tried to pay him, Pa refused. He said kindness doesn’t have a price.”

  Not only a good and honest man, but a noble one, as well, it would seem.

  Izzy fought to still the tremors that snaked along her spine.

  She hoped he lived up to his reputation, because tonight she was going to let Matthew Prescott, the good, honest, noble mountain man, have his way with her. If it killed her.

  Chapter Eight

  Matt stepped into the room and closed the door. For a moment he stood still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The lantern had been extinguished, but there was enough moonlight spilling through the window to let him see quite clearly.

  The room had been scrubbed to a high shine. It smelled of lye soap and…roses. He could swear he smelled roses.

  His clothes were hung in a neat row on pegs along one wall. Instead of the rough, scratchy wood floor, his bare feet encountered the softness of a rug. The worn coverlet on the bed had been patched and mended until it resembled a brand-new spread. And lying under the spread was his wife, watching him with eyes that seemed too big for her face.

  “Looks like you were busy while I was gone.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Now, how could I mind this?” He spread his hands. “I’ve never seen the place so clean.”

  Izzy should have felt a glow of pride. But she was too busy watching the way the towel at his hips slipped a notch, revealing the flat planes of his stomach, and below, a whorl of dark hair.

  “I’m glad you found your mustangs, Matthew.”

  “So am I.” He ran a hand over the stack of clean clothes she had laid out for him for the morning. Sturdy pants, a soft woolen shirt, his spare boots, polished to a bright sheen. “When the army buys them from me, I’ll have enough to add on to the cabin. I’m even thinking about building a second barn.”

  “That’s wonderful. How long will it take you to tame the horses, Matthew?”

  He chuckled as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “What’s so funny?” She sat up straighter, revealing a prim and proper night shift buttoned clear to her throat. “Is it something I did?”

  He shook his head. “It’s hearing you call me Matthew. The only other person who ever called me that was my mother.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” He reached out a hand to her and felt her stiffen. At once he withdrew his, determined this time to move slowly, to do everything right. “I don’t mind. Really. In fact, I like it.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded and busied himself running his finger across the quilt to keep from touching the curl that dipped seductively over her eye. “This bedcover looks as good as new.”

  “I just patched the holes.”

  “You work fast.” He stilled his movements and waited, hoping she would touch his hand.

  “It gave me something to do each evening after supper.” He was so still, so watchful it was disconcerting. She was so aware of him. Of his near nakedness. Of the clean, soapy scent of him. Of the wide, muscled shoulders, the hair-roughened chest.

  She cleared her throat. “You never told me how long it will take you to tame the mustangs.”

  “I won’t really tame them. I’ll just break them to saddle.” The rose fragrance was stronger here and he realized it came from her skin. He yearned to lean close and breathe it in. He could imagine it, beside her ear, along her throat, between her breasts. The thought of it was driving him mad.

  “Break them?” She shivered. “That sounds so…cruel. As though you would beat them until their spirit is broken.”

  “It’s not that way at all.” He spread a hand over a mound in the coverlet, knowing her thigh was just beneath. He saw her eyes widen for a fraction before she caught herself. “But they’re wild creatures, Isabella. They need to get accustomed to being around people and carrying them on their backs. I guess it’s really a matter of trust, between man and animal.”

  Trust. How she wished she had a little of that right now.

  “You don’t—” her eyes were wide with fear “—beat them into submission?”

  “Of course not.” He fought to keep the impatience from his tone, reminding himself that she was a city woman. And as skittish as a colt. “Maybe you’d like to come out to the corral once in a while and see for yourself.”

  “I don’t know.” The fear was still there, but he could see that she was considering his invitation. “The children told me it’s quite dangerous. That you’ve often been thrown from wild horses.”

  He smiled, and she noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ve been thrown too many times to count. And believe me, every time it happens, it hurts. I have the bruises to prove it.”

  “Then why do you keep doing it?”

  “Because it pays the bills. Selling mustangs to the army allows me to live here and raise my children the way I choose.”

  At the mention of his children, her eyes softened. “They’re fine children, Matthew.”

  His smile grew. “Yes, they are. And I’m grateful that you were willing to come all this way just to help me raise them. Now—” he shifted, leaning toward her “—I’m starting to get chilled. If you don’t mind, I’d like to climb under the covers.”

  She had expected him to walk around to the other side of the bed. Instead he stood and casually discarded his towel. She knew she had the right to look at him. They were, after all, husband and wife. But she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t allow herself to look. And so she turned her head, averting her gaze, until the mattress sagged beneath him.

  As he settled himself beside her, his foot brushed hers. She was instantly frozen in shock. All these long days and nights hadn’t prepared her for this. She had thought she could bury her fears and give him what he craved. But the thought of lying next to a naked man, who expected her to give herself to him for his pleasure, had her trembling.

  “Isabella.” He rolled to his side and caught her by the shoulder.

  Warning herself not to flinch, she lay, stiff, unmoving, waiting for whatever would come next.

  As soon as he touched her, Matt could feel the tremors that rocked her. He cautioned himself against rushing her. This time he was determined to break through the wall she had built. This time he would coax her to relax and savor the pleasure they could bring to each other.

  “Isabella, I just want to kiss you.” He drew her close and brushed her mouth with his. She kept her lips pressed firmly together. Even when his tongue traced the outline of her mouth, then slowly parted her lips, she kept her teeth clamped so tightly it was impossible to break through.

  And so he settled
for pressing soft, moist kisses over her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose.

  That had her relaxing, and even smiling, until he traced the curve of her ear with his tongue, then darted it inside. A series of shock waves jolted through her system. She pressed her hands to his chest. But before she could push away, he wrapped her in his arms and drew her close while he continued to kiss her jaw, her throat and the sensitive little hollow between her neck and shoulder.

  Izzy had been prepared to feel disgust or revulsion. Or, with luck, perhaps nothing at all. But she was completely unprepared for the tiny thread of pleasure that curled along her spine. And the swift, unsettling rush of heat when the hard contours of his body pressed into her softness.

  “Can’t you kiss me back, Isabella?” His warm breath fanned her face, adding to her discomfort.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I…don’t know how.” It shamed her to admit such a thing. She could feel the heat staining her cheeks as she waited for him to mock her. How he must be secretly laughing at her admission.

  Instead, he said simply, “Then I’ll show you. First, you do this.” He touched his mouth to hers in the sweetest of kisses. He felt her go rigid with shock. At once his voice took on a soothing note as he murmured against her lips, “And then you do this.” Easing his hands along her sides, he forced her arms upward until they were twined around his neck. “Now,” he muttered against her mouth, “you’re holding me the same way I’m holding you. How does it feel so far?”

  “Fi—fine.” The word was barely a whisper. It was all she could manage, because her throat was so constricted. His mouth was actually touching hers. Now that they were facing each other, their bodies touching, she could feel him in every part of her. Her thin night shift was no barrier.

  She lay perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid even to breathe.

  “Now, Isabella,” he said softly, “you touch your lips to mine.”

  He saw her eyes widen, before she pursed her lips and screwed up her courage. He half smiled as her mouth brushed his and her lashes fluttered, then closed. But his smile fled at the sudden jolt to his system.