Let Me Love You

by Mary Wine

  So much more than lust. It was just possible that’s what made a man face life with a smile on his face. Knowing that someone was waiting for him when he got home.

  He sure was going to enjoy finding out.

  -o-O-o-

  Over the next week, winter tightened its grip on Silver Peak. Brianna found herself enjoying snow more than she ever had before. Oh, she’d fallen all right and there wasn’t even a single protest from her conscience to repent. She found herself ridiculously happy as she cooked supper every night, because she was feeding more than herself.

  Checking the light outside, she shivered as she relatched the window. Sloan would be home soon. Reaching for her cornmeal, she placed some in a bowl and added lard and salt to begin fixing up some bread. Men ate a whole lot more than women did. Cooking for her father had sure taught her that.

  A frown covered her face as her fingers froze on the fork. Her heart didn’t want to let him go yet, but the facts were mounting against Gregory Spencer turning up alive. It seemed almost a sacrilege to be so happy when her father was likely dead on some patch of Arizona ground without even a decent burial. Shaking her melancholy thoughts aside, she finished the corn bread and placed it on the back of the stove to bake, making sure the lid of her large pot was in place to keep the heat inside the thick cast iron.

  Three quick raps hit the front door, making her smile. It was a silly sort of expression that she giggled over as she went and tapped a single time in response. Two more raps shook the wood before she pulled the thick bar up to allow her husband inside. He blew in with a scattering of snow, the white flecks peppering the floor as he shrugged out of his duster.

  “Hello, wife.” She wiggled against the kiss he pressed on her, pushing him away. “Your nose is cold!”

  Sloan growled at her and captured her with one arm around her waist. He pulled her against his body, hugging her from behind. “So warm me up, honey.”

  His voice was dark with promise and it made her shiver. Anticipation bubbled up inside her as his hand smoothed down her belly to her hips. Turning her head, she pressed a slow kiss to his mouth, lingering over the touch of their lips as she enjoyed the rise of passion. His fingers flexed over each of her hips as she felt the hardening of his cock against her back.

  “After supper.”

  A low grunt was her husband’s reply. Brianna laughed at his disgruntlement before pulling at his hands to escape. “I’m tired of chipping off burnt food from my cooking pots, husband.”

  He huffed, but let her go. She caught the sound of his belly rumbling as the scent of their supper captured his attention. But he didn’t sit down at the table for her to serve him a plate. Instead he clasped one of her wrists with his large hand and pulled her back into his embrace. This time she faced him and watched his eyes flicker with doubt. An emotion she wasn’t accustomed to seeing on him. It snaked down into her heart, because somehow she knew that if he didn’t care about her, she wouldn’t see such a thing. Maybe she might never hear the words, but some things you knew without hearing.

  Even if she did long for the words. A little sigh escaped her. Maybe it was just a woman’s need, hearing that she was loved. Some kind of tender emotional desire that men didn’t think about. The back of his hand stroked across her face as he considered her for a long moment.

  “I have something for you.” His eyes filled with indecision. “I was going to wait until Christmas, but I need to know.”

  The holiday was still over a month away and Brianna didn’t much like the idea of waiting either. The last year of struggling to pay the land mortgage hadn’t left any time for presents or even comforts. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d tasted a piece of sugar candy.

  His fingers reached into his vest pocket. Whatever he withdrew, it was small, barely fitting on the tip of his smallest finger. The light from the lamp reflected off it as she looked closer. The slim gold band was polished to a high shine.

  A little “oh” got caught on her lips. The few bits of jewelry her mother had owned had been sold to finance their move west. Getting married had never included a wedding ring, because laying down money for a decoration wasn’t necessary. Coal stockpiled for winter was far more important.

  Practicality. It was harder to chew on some days than others. Staring at the shiny circle of gold, Brianna choked on the dry facts of everyday living.

  “You shouldn’t have spent money on a ring.” Disappointment laced her voice in spite of her best effort to stand firm in the face of her wants. She was mesmerized by the little bit of gold, her finger itching to try it on. But that was a childish, selfish emotion. Their money should be used for the important things they needed, not a silly woman’s desire.

  “I wanted to buy it for you.”

  There was hard purpose in his voice. He raised the gold band up in front of her face. “A wedding in front of a reverend is more legal than anything else. I’m asking you to wear my ring because I love you.”

  Her eyes welled up with tears that promptly tumbled right down her cheeks. Brianna didn’t care one bit about the excessive emotion, because those three little words were bouncing around inside her head, drowning out every other detail in the world. The coal and the land mortgage and winter supplies were all just things. Love was eternal. She lifted her left hand and laughed at the tremor shaking it. Touching her ring finger to the tip of his pinky, she smiled through her tears at him.

  “I thought you’d never get around to letting me love you.”

  His lips broke the stern mask he’d hidden his feelings behind. She watched them curl up as he pushed the little band down her finger. She held her breath as the warm metal slid smoothly into place. He closed his hand around hers as she caught the faint sparkle of unshed tears in his eyes. “If you ever stop loving me, take it off.”

  “I couldn’t talk myself out of loving you on the second day we met, so don’t count on it ever leaving my hand, Sloan McAlister.”

  “I’ll be happy to take that bet, Brianna McAlister.” He leaned towards her mouth, pressing a hard kiss to her lips as she forgot about the supper burning on her stove. The little golden band stayed firmly on her finger as her husband took her to bed and whispered his polished words of love against her bare body. Her fantasies paled in comparison as her heart absorbed the reality of hearing the word “love” in their bed. Now that was what little girls should dream about!

  They dined on corn bread—burnt on the bottom…again.

  The snow had melted into a puddle on her floor and Brianna was too happy to care. Sloan’s gaze followed her around the cabin as she set his overcooked supper in front of him and nibbled on the top of her share.

  A horse nicker drifted in from the closed door, shattering the moment of intimacy. Sloan surged out of his seat in a tightly control motion. The rifle was already in his hand before he pushed her against the wall.

  “Stay behind me.”

  There wasn’t a hint of leniency in his voice. It was full of pure command as he stepped in front of her to open the door. Snow was falling in a gentle white shower, Sloan’s tracks already covered in fresh powder. A single rider approached and Sloan’s rifle lowered to aim its barrel right at him. The hands on the reins pulled the animal to a halt before the rider pushed the brim of his hat up to stare at them.

  When she stuck her head through the doorway to peer into the dim light cast out from her lamp, her breath caught in her throat.

  “No, don’t shoot him.” Her heart accelerated so fast, she had to gasp to keep enough air in her lungs. Sloan never took his eyes off the man sitting in the road. The muzzle of his rifle directly on his heart.

  “That’s my daddy.”

  Gregory Spencer was a lot plumper than she remembered. Brianna dived right under her husband’s arm as he returned the rifle to his shoulder. She heard his snort of disapproval, but still ran through the shin-deep snow towards her father.

  But when she hugged him her father also grunted with disapproval. His
arm tightened around her as he glared at Sloan. Her husband had followed her across the drive and stood just out of reach of her father.

  “You’d better be my son-in-law.” Her daddy sounded madder than she ever remembered hearing him. He divided his attention between watching Sloan and looking at her.

  “Sloan McAlister. We got married last week.”

  “I’ll hear that from my daughter, if you don’t mind.” Her daddy lifted one eyebrow towards her. Brianna smiled and raised her hand. The snow tickled her skin as it fell, but her wedding band glistened. A twinkle lit her daddy’s eyes as he looked at the smile on her face. He turned and offered his hand to Sloan as her husband met him in a firm handshake.

  “Glad to hear it. There’s plenty of work around here.”

  A wagon rattled behind them. Brianna watched as a buckboard turned the bend in the road. Her father lifted a gloved hand in greeting as he winked at her.

  “That’s your new stepmother I wrote you about.”

  Brianna gasped at her father’s announcement. “I never got any letters, Daddy. Not a word.”

  Her father frowned. He glared at Sloan for a long moment before looking back at her. “Brianna Marie, why did you get married?”

  The buckboard stopped and the horses tossed their head. Brianna smiled at her father as the world bloomed with every happy thing that she could possibly dream of having.

  “Because I fell in love, Daddy. I fell in love.”

  A smile lifted her father’s lips as he nodded approval. “Funny thing is, so did I, daughter.”

  Spring

  Sloan grinned as his wife snarled at him. Her arms were propped on her hips as her lip curled with her temper. It was the honest truth that he still enjoyed that spunk.

  “Stop grinning at me, Sloan McAlister!”

  He touched the brim of his hat in reply. “Then you’ll have to stop looking so pretty, Mrs. McAlister.”

  “Ha!” She wasn’t pretty! She was swollen up like a dairy cow. All she needed was a pail next to her feet to use when milking her and she still had three full months before her child was due. Her eyes stung as tears began to ease down her cheeks.

  “Oh, bother!” She slapped her hands onto her skirt as she failed to control the surge of emotion—again. Not only did she look like a prize heifer, she acted like a baby, too. Her husband chuckled before capturing her against his body. He dusted her cheeks and nose with tiny kisses as she wriggled to escape. His hand caught the back of her neck to hold her steady as he stared into her eyes. Love shone in the dark orbs and it unleashed another few tears from her eyes.

  “Love is the prettiest sight any man could ask for.” The baby growing inside her kicked out against the hold his father had on her. Enjoyment sparkled in her husband’s eyes as he felt the movement of their unborn child. A whistle sailed up from the new cabin her father was building. Sloan waggled his eyebrows before kissing her and turning towards the project. Her stepmother hummed as she made up the beds and the sound of wood being sawed filled the air as Sloan began to work alongside her father.

  Her new house was pale gold in the early spring morning sun. The new lumber gleamed as Warren and Jed drove nails through it. Snow still lay in clumps on the ground and the river wasn’t running ice-free yet. So her house was rising up before her baby made his appearance.

  Her father’s letters never did arrive, but his story sure filled a few cold winter nights. His new wife, Wind-Song, was Chinese, and if there was a frail bone in her compact body, Brianna had yet to discover it. The woman never raised her voice above a soft level, but she was pure stubborn determination. Brianna laughed every time she envisioned Clayton trying to avoid paying his mill fee. Her daddy claimed her step-mother’s iron will was the reason he was still alive, Wind-Song’s determination to have her way. She’d found him halfdead of a rattlesnake bite and refused to fetch him a preacher. Instead she’d filled him full of ancient Chinese medicine while wrapping his infected leg in foul-smelling herbs and roots. His letters home most likely were burned because they came from a Chinese boy, and race was still so important to some westerners. Even the post officers often refused to process mail handed over by non-whites. But just looking at her father and Wind-Song made her long for people who would leave love alone to sprout where it would.

  “Come in and make clothes for baby, daughter.”

  Wind-Song poked her head through the open doorway. “You have no time once baby is born. Listen to Wind-Song, make baby clothes today.”

  A bolt of soft muslin fabric was already placed on the table, now that breakfast had been cleared away. The small cabin was bursting at its seams with family and Brianna decided it was absolutely perfect.

  Even Joseph Corners earned a hint of gratitude from her as she recalled just how much the man had helped push her into Sloan’s arms. A little giggle shook her as she began to cut a tiny nightshirt out for her baby. Yes, love did show up under the most mysterious of ways in the Spencer family. Rattlesnakes and claim jumpers, she could just imagine what lay in store for the coming season. Warren and Jed couldn’t possibly understand what fate might cast their way.

  The idea kept her smiling the rest of the day.

  About the Author

  To learn more about Mary Wine, please visit www.marywine.com. Send an email to talk2marywine@hotmail.com.

  Look for these titles by Mary Wine

  Now Available:

  Evolution’s Embers Full Disclosure Passion flares between a federal marshal and his enemy’s wife.

  Another Man’s Wife

  © 2007 Denysé Bridger

  Outlaws descend on a stagecoach winding down its long journey between Missouri and Wind River, Wyoming. Federal Marshal Chris McQuade is one of the two occupants of the stage, and the ensuing battle leaves three dead men on the trail.

  McQuade’s unlikely partner in the deed is a woman he’s been attracted to from the start of the trip. It isn’t until they’re forced to go on alone together that he realizes he’s falling for the wife of the man he’s been sent to bring to justice. Despite the ring on her finger and the role he plans to play in making her a widow, passion ignites and McQuade is surprised to discover that Elizabeth Davis is as helpless as he is to deny their need for each other.

  But Elizabeth’s husband has witnessed a much-too-intimate encounter between his enemy and his wife…and now he is out for revenge.

  .ctrboldital { font-style:italic; font-weight:700; text-align:center; text-indent:0em; }

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Another Man’s Wife:

  “Is this my horse?” she asked, inwardly shocked by the husky rasp of her voice. This was as close to Chris McQuade as she’d ever been, and it was an overwhelming experience for her senses. Awareness of him filled her; the mixed scents of man and horse, the mesmerizing depth of his dark eyes, the wind-ruffled disarray of his hair, and the sheer masculine strength that emanated from him. She wanted to touch him, to taste him, to feel his hands on her. The very thoughts made her weak in the knees.

  Chris lifted his hat off the pommel of the saddle and stepped back to give her room to mount the gelding. She swung into the saddle with natural ease, and the seconds her bottom swayed before his face were almost his undoing. The next few days were going to be painfully long, some inner voice warned as he tried to ignore the surge of lust that shot straight to his groin. He pulled his hat low and went to the second horse, settling on the saddle and turning west without another word. By the time she came alongside him, he was reasonably certain he could safely look at her.

  Elizabeth’s eyes drank in the beauty of the landscape around them. The Wind River Mountains loomed far in the distance and it was difficult to judge just how far away the town might be. “How long before we reach Wind River?”

  “Likely be a few days,” Chris replied, peering intently ahead. “We’re going to have to ride hard to get to the foothills, then head north. Town shouldn’t be too hard to find from there.”

  “Have you b
een there before?” She moved easily with the horse, well accustomed to riding. The gelding was a spirited animal, and she felt an affinity for him already. She suspected he’d move like the wind if the need arose, and she named him Wind Dancer in her mind, smiling at the whimsy.

  Chris obviously caught the expression and she enjoyed the telltale tug at the corner of his mouth as he watched her with open amusement.

  “Somethin’ funny goin’ on, ma’am?” he said, the natural drawl flowing into his voice again.

  She shook her head and bit back the grin that wanted to spread over her features. “Nothing funny, Mr. McQuade,” she assured him, then urged Wind Dancer into an exhilarating gallop, leaning over the pommel of the saddle and reveling in the movement of the horse beneath her. Only seconds later she heard him closing the distance between them. Instead of censure or the anger she anticipated, Chris whooped loudly as he passed her and she laughed with pure pleasure and let her horse’s gait open up further. The two animals were well-matched for strength and speed and it was a long while before Chris slowed and pointed to a copse of trees less than a mile ahead.

  “We’ll make camp there for the night,” he told her when she drew up next to him.

  The sun was sinking rapidly on the western peaks of the mountains and the color streaked the sky with a splendor unlike any she’d seen before. She stared, enchanted and enthralled by the fiery display that crested the snow-capped mountaintops. The orange-gold orb of heavenly fire gradually dipped behind the ridge of darkening mountains, its last searching fingers splaying over the tops, turning everything to purple tinted pink. Chris nudged his horse forward and she followed, caught between the glory atop the mountains and the magnificence of the man and horse moving ahead of her.

  Less than an hour later they sat in front of a fire, coffee brewing and filling the night air with its enticing aroma. They shared some of the hard tack and jerked beef from Tom Caden’s saddlebags, and Elizabeth felt a rare moment of tranquility as she gazed upward at the glittering sky. The moon was making a slow climb into the center of the tapestry of black velvet that draped over them, its silvery crescent growing brighter and brighter.