by Jillian Hart
He did not want a sixteen-year-old for a wife. He wanted a woman, one strong enough to stand beside him, one who wasn't afraid of work.
Jonah's gaze landed on Tessa, trudging silently beside pole-thin Horace Walling, her head bowed, defeat weighing down her shoulders.
"Do not even think it, brother," Andy advised, hurrying to catch him.
Jonah laughed aloud. "How do you know what I am thinking?"
"You are thinking of duty. And well you should." Little brother clasped him hard on the shoulder. "I am just back from the house. Father is failing. Thomas said to bring Mistress Tessa at once."
Fear froze Jonah. He felt his blood stall in his veins. His own legs refused to move. "What? Is Father dying so soon?"
"I don't know." Andy's face turned grim, his eyes bleak. True sorrow burned there. "But you had best pick one of those women now, brother. If the old man does not improve, this well might be your last day as a bachelor."
Chapter Four
" Tis not good news," she spoke from the thick shadows of the room.
Jonah stood, his heart quickening. Fear tasted sour in his mouth. Tessa Bradford stepped farther into the parlor, the few lit candles stroking her face with alternating ribbons of darkness and light.
"Tell me. I need to know the truth," he demanded.
"His lungs are failing." She pushed a handful of ebony ringlet curls out of her regret filled eyes. Eyes that touched him with sympathy. "Jonah, I have done my best to ease his discomfort, but you must call a surgeon. There is naught more I can do."
"Then do more." Jonah tore across the room, knocking aside a chair. Anger tore at his chest-the only feeling he'd known for so long-and it raged bright enough to burn him clear through. "Father cannot die. You must do something. Get back upstairs. Use your herbs-"
She raised two slender hands, callused, work-reddened. "Jonah, I cannot-"
"Do it, I say!" Anger ground his words into a threat. His fingers closed around her upper arms, holding her captive, hostage to the emotions tearing him apart. "You cannot let Father die."
"Jonah." Her soft voice, nearly whispering his name, stopped him, made him blink. The red rage before his eyes ebbed. He saw Tessa's heart-shaped face, lined with fatigue, crinkled with worry. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "You're bruising me."
In shock, he let her go. She took a step back, rubbing her small hands over her forearms, as if to chase away his touch. Or the crushing pain from his grip.
Shame filled him. He'd never hurt a woman. Would never wish to- He hung his head. "Tessa, I'm sorry."
"No matter." Cold and distant, she sounded. Strangely disappointed. "You're overwrought, I understand. The news is not good. I plan to stay and do what I can. Regardless of what you think of me, I would never leave a dying man alone and suffering.
A dying man. Her words struck him like a blow. Damn fool, he'd been gone too long. He'd let the years slip by like dirt through his fingers, never stopping to think his father, so strong and brave, would not live forever. Jonah took a step back, mind reeling.
And now, was he too late? Would there be no time to share tales, watch sunrises, walk the cornfields with Father and speak of harvests, of hopes for the future?
He had no one to blame but himself. In chasing after what he'd hoped would make Father proud, he'd lost a decade, precious time that could not be recovered.
A pair of velvet blue eyes gazed up at him, shimmering with unshed tears and an emotion that drew him hard and fast. Air lodged in Jonah's chest seeing the hurt he'd caused. A hurt he could not guess at.
"I'm sorry, Tessa." The words came broken, edged with defeat. He'd been wrong to raise his voice and to hold her captive. "I know you have done all you can."
Her bottom lip wobbled. Soft and full, too lush for her thin, pale face. " 'Tis all right."
Yet she turned away, shoved her callused hands deep in her faded skirt's pockets and ascended the stairs. Blood thickened in his veins watching the sway of her hips beneath her skirt. The darkness swallowed her until there was only the sound of her light foot on the steps.
Jonah rubbed his hands over his face. Aye, always the fool. If he were half as successful in relationships, in interacting with other people as he'd been on the battlefield… Well, that was his true failure. Something he could not hide here in this house, in this small town, where family and relationships were everything.
"Was that Mistress Tessa I heard?" Thomas' voice came from the shadowed library. "Has she good news of Father's condition?"
"Nay." Only two candles flickered against the darkness. Jonah hadn't the heart to light more. Now he saw only the shadow of his brother, broad shouldered and far more capable than he himself could ever be. "He is ailing. I am off to fetch a surgeon from Saybrook. Tell Andy. Tessa will need help if Father worsens."
" 'Tis foolish for you to leave." Thomas stepped into the ribbons of light, solemn eyes unflinching. "I will go after a doctor."
"Nay, I shall do it-"
"I have been here these last few years, Jonah. I can spare the time away from him. You cannot."
Shame crept around his heart and squeezed like a grip. "I must go." He reached for his cloak.
"I know the way best." Thomas' hand stopped him. "Night will come before long, and I can find my way better than you through the dark. I have traveled the roads more. Trust me, Jonah, I will ride faster and return more quickly. 'Twill be best for Father."
" 'Tis only sensible." Shame tightened its grip inside his chest. "Thank you, brother. I will find Andy and carry in more firewood. Make myself useful somehow."
"You are too harsh with yourself. It can be no easy task trying to fill Father's footsteps. Do not try so hard to be somebody else." Thomas' voice dipped, and kindness shone in his eyes. "I will saddle one of the stallions and leave immediately."
"Godspeed, brother." Jonah listened to Thomas' steps in the kitchen, heard the back door bang shut, felt silence creep through the house.
He heard the slightest footfall on the ceiling above. Tessa. Until the surgeon came, Father's fate lay in her caring hands.
She recognized Jonah's step in the hallway. She only had time to brace herself before he strolled through the door, all brash and spellbinding brawn.
"You look exhausted." Kindness flickered in his compelling eyes.
Little bubbles of heat popped in her blood. Why did she react strongly to him? He made her think of her most secret dreams, of how good his body had felt against hers, hard and strong and so wondrously male. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
"Any change?" Jonah demanded from the threshold, his voice tight.
"Nay."
"You're angry at me." He winced. "Because I hurt you. I didn't mean it. I didn't know I was bruising you."
Of course not. He'd held her with a possessive strength she'd never felt before, claiming and unyielding and filled with heart-deep need. No one had ever held her that way. No one ever would again.
"You need not worry," she said quietly, folding the used towel in careful thirds. "I know that there is not a single man alive who would hold me on purpose."
She'd meant it as a small joke, but no humor shaped his grim, well-shaped mouth.
"Mayhap you should stop doing your best to scare off all the men." His gaze bore into hers, glimmering with knowledge.
"I do no such thing." She jumped up from the low bedside stool so fast she nearly knocked it to the ground. "Just because I do not dally with every available man, the way you do with women, does not mean-"
"Do you think I like being forced to marry?" In three strides he'd crossed the room.
"Forced?" She knelt before the fire, hating that she now gazed at his booted feet. "Your father wants grandchildren. I hardly call that having a gun to your head."
"To me it is the same."
"Then you live too easy of a life." Forced to marry? The dolt knew nothing. Living in a fine house, a hero in his family's eyes, so handsome any woman would fall at his feet and be h
onored to feel his love. "No one is threatening to toss you out if you do not marry."
Silence. Perhaps he would leave now, go so that she need not see him and fight memories of his rock hard chest, so male and so fascinating. And how amazing it felt simply to be touched by a man, by him.
Truly, a foolish thought. He'd held her and it meant nothing to him. There would be no man to love her. No family of her own built on happiness and trust.
She lifted a stick of chopped maple from the ornate brass wood box, something far too fine for holding a stack of wood.
Big fingers curled around her own. Beautiful, blunt-tipped fingers that snapped heat through her bones. Tessa's blood warmed as Jonah knelt beside her and lifted the wood from her grip.
"Allow me." His voice could caress all common sense from a woman.
"I will allow you nothing." She released the wood, hoping he would release her hand. He did. He'd meant nothing by touching her. Why did she feel so disappointed? "We are nearly out of wood."
Dark eyes sizzled, drawing her closer. "My brother is bringing more."
"Aye, I'm not surprised." Tessa stood, determined to keep her distance. "A hero such as yourself is too important to carry an armload of wood."
"That is not what I meant-"
"I doubt you know what a good day's work feels like. No, hard labor is beneath Major Jonah Hunter." Anger felt easier than admitting what was truly bothering her, what was ripping her heart in two.
"I never said I was so fine," he ground out. "The damn truth is-"
"You have every girl in town pining after you, batting her eyes, trying to win your favor. And look at you, soaking it up when your father is so gravely ill." What right did he have complaining about having to marry? How dare he complain when he could have what she would not?
"That is not true and you know so, Tessa."
"I know nothing. Do you think I will melt at your feet the way Violet and her friends did?"
His eyes sizzled. "I doubt you would melt for any man, Tessa Bradford."
His hand clamped on her wrist, and her breath wedged in her throat. His bare skin scorched hers, the heat absorbing into her body.
Why was she behaving this way? Was she so desperate for his touch that she would imagine Jonah Hunter as a man capable of giving love? Anger tore at her.
"I'm too wise to melt for a man. Especially a handsome one." She fetched a clean washcloth from a pile of linen.
"So, you think me handsome?"
She clenched the cloth in her fist. "I do not," she lied. "But I bet that you think yourself handsome. And admit it, you liked how those young girls flocked around you, simpering for your attention."
"I don't give a damn for those girls playing dress up and thinking that I am some tasty meal ticket," he ground out, fury so tight in his jaw he could barely form the words.
"Now, you are lying."
Fire burned in his eyes. "Nay, I'm telling the truth. I hardly care what you think of me. You're in this house to tend Father, not render judgment on me. Is that clear?"
"I am not one of your indentured servants, bought and paid for, so don't treat me as if I am." Her fingers trembled from fatigue, surely not emotion, as she rung moisture from the cloth. "I may not be pretty and young, but at least I'm not like those ridiculous girls hoping to be your bride."
"Tell me how you are smarter, Tessa." His shadow fell across her, claiming her as swiftly as his touch.
Her skin burned. Her blood tingled. Was there no stopping her body's response to him? "I am not fooled by a man's false heart. Especially a man thinking of his earthly needs when his father is lying so ill."
"What know you of a man's earthly needs?" His voice boomed through the room, echoing off the papered walls.
Tessa blushed. "Hand me the towel over there, please. Jonah, I shall have no more-"
"A woman such as you must know a lot about a man such as I," he interrupted, his big body so near to hers she could feel the power thrumming through his tensed muscles.
"Jonah, keep your voice down. Your father is fast asleep." Heavens, she should not have risked his temper.
His teeth ground, clacking together. "I will not. I want to know about you, so strict and pious on the outside, but I know differently. How dare you judge me as if I were mere mud at your feet?"
"I never said you were mud," she protested and tried to step away. His hand caught her, held her close. Way too close to that solid wall of his chest.
"Tell me what you were doing in the woods last night? What foul business were you about? I think I have a clue. Since you know so much about a man's earthly needs, then mayhap you've been tending to them."
Heat popped across her skin as he closed the distance between them. He dipped his face toward hers. She stumbled back. He caught her by the elbows, his firm grip twice as possessive and as unyielding as before. Was there no escape? Jonah leaned closer. The breath stalled in her chest. She tried to protest, but his lips claimed hers in a burst of heat and velvet and possession. Heat swept across the surface of her lips where their mouths joined. Hot, bubbling pleasure that somehow twisted low in her stomach.
Sweet heaven. Tessa melted against him. He was all rock-solid muscle and powerful man, but his mouth brushed hers with such surprising tenderness that she could not move.
"You taste sweeter than you look," he murmured.
She tasted his every word, every breath. Jonah's hand curled around her neck, cradling the back of her head. Heat pulsed in her blood as his lower lip caught hers and sucked it into his mouth. Sweet Mary, she'd never known such scorching heat. Never known such a touch. Was Jonah Hunter such a man that he could bring fire to her cold heart?
His tongue brushed velvet heat along the seam of her lips. This was like a kiss she'd dreamed of on those unhappy nights when she lay unable to sleep in her bed. This kiss was like a dream, and it sizzled like magic wonder along her lips, fired her blood, and made her bones melt. Overcome, Tessa laid her hand against his jaw and felt the curious texture of his unshaven whiskers, wondrous and rough against her palm.
Was this a dream? Tessa did not know as his arms folded her to his chest. She felt the strength of him and the powerful beat of his heart. Thrilling pleasure spun through every inch of her. A pleasure that made her feel alive and whole and so miraculously wanted. Even as desire filled her veins, it did not distort her reasoning. Jonah Hunter didn't want her, she knew that. She ought to step away and move out of his embrace.
And yet as his kiss grew more demanding and his mouth harder and faster over hers, she surrendered, melting like frost before sun. Nothing in her quiet sensible life had ever felt like this. And considering she was the most feared spinster in the village, she knew without a doubt she would never be kissed like this again. So she was secretly glad when he did not move away. Just for this once she wanted to know the way a man touched a woman. Feel a passion she'd heard about in shy whispers from her few married friends.
"Tessa."
She felt his big body tense. Her entire body cooled when she met his gaze.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, releasing her, stepping away as if he'd touched something distasteful.
The old pain wrapped itself around her heart. No man was going to love her. She'd waited for love, believed in it for so long. All those years tending poor sick Mother, she dreamed it might be possible. One of the handsome men from town, one she saw at meeting. Sometimes a man would smile at or stop to exchange pleasantries on the common and her silly old heart would start hoping…
Aye, simple foolishness. She'd turned twenty-six this winter. Far too old to dream of romance and passion.
"I suppose now you think-" He sighed, raking his hair with one hand, long dark strands falling through his frustrated fingers.
"You cannot know what I think," she argued, far too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Want for him still sparked her blood.
"You think I would consider you-"
"I hate you, I truly do." She cut him off before he
could say the hateful words. Nay, he would never consider marrying her. The hurt clutched her heart, such an old pain of being unwanted. "I would never want such a pompous ass for my husband."
"Believe me, I am no donkey, Tessa."
"Nay, you are worse." There was no such thing as love from a man with danger in his eyes. With her pulse thundering in her ears, she turned her back on him and steeled her heart. "I will need some fresh water."
"Tell me about your lover. He can't be Horace Walling. No woman would sneak through the night woods to meet with such a clod pate."
"You think that I-" She could not say it. Shock lodged in her throat.
"I know it," he corrected, eyes flashing. "No virgin kisses the way you do."
"But I-"
"Tell me," he demanded, towering over her powerful and bold, handsome enough to take her breath away and every last bit of her sense.
The memory of his kiss burned along her mouth. Dreams felt like that, fiery and heart stopping. Reality was different, disappointing and grim. The two could not mix. Hadn't she learned that by now?
"Tell you what?" Tears blurred her vision. His dark face swam, and she blinked. Two drops spilled down her cheeks, betraying her feelings. She would not let him see her vulnerable.
"Tell me where you learned to kiss like that," A grin whispered across his mouth, still glistening from their kiss.
It took all her willpower not to strike him. How dare he tease her? "You know damn well I have never kissed a man."
"Not even me, I suppose?" His dark brows drew taut. Muscles bunched along his whisker-rough jaw. "Do not tempt me, Tessa, else the entire village will know of your midnight adventures."
"Don't you dare." Her warning thrummed through her like hatred, hard and hot and terrifying.
"You start a rumor such as that, and you'll do more than ruin me."
"Mistress, you've done that on your own." His eyes narrowed, a devil's light glowing within.
"I despise you." She fetched a towel and tossed it at him. "You're not so fine a man as you think."