by Cindy Gerard
Last night he’d slipped quietly back into the cabin while she was still up in the loft. The door to his bedroom was closed when she’d come downstairs.
She’d thought of going to him there. To ask if he’d changed his mind. To risk the last of her pride if he hadn’t. When she’d realized she was motivated by her own needs as much as by Mark’s, she couldn’t do it. Instead she’d lain awake half the night wondering why a man who looked like him, who engendered the trust and friendship of people the quality of the Hazzards and Scarlett Morgan, needed to solicit a wife. And she wondered what he’d decided to do about the one he had for the taking.
He had his secrets, too, she was sure of it. He had his own set of sorrows and sins to deal with. It was unnerving that this intriguing paradox of fire and ice, strength and vulnerability could foster protective needs in her. And wanting.
Even more unsettling was the knowledge that he held their future in his hands.
It was an awesome concept. A monster disadvantage. And even though she knew she could still say the word and the deal would be off, she wasn’t even tempted to say it. Not now. Not now that she’d met him, not now that she’d kissed him and he’d made her feel alive like she’d never felt in her life.
She was so engrossed in those feelings that it took her a moment to realize he’d just said something critical.
She sat up straight in her chair. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said the winters here are hard and long.”
Her eyes arrowed to his, searching and alert, as she studied his savagely beautiful face. What she saw there reinforced the significance of his statement.
With reluctance he was telling her she could stay—and in the same breath warning her away.
Her heart thrummed with anticipation and relief.
“Your fire is warm and inviting,” she said softly, telling him she understood and was up to the challenge.
It didn’t appear to make him happy. “The springs and summers are too short.”
She worked to hide a small, triumphant smile. “I’ve had enough year-round California summers to last a lifetime.”
“I’ll be gone sometimes,” he countered, holding her unwavering gaze. “My work requires it. Not just at the logging site. I’ll have to go out of state occasionally—for materials, to tie up contracts.”
Give it your best shot, Abel Greene, she challenged silently, basking in the light of her victory. You’re not going to scare me off. “A man has to work, or he’s not a man.”
He took a deep swallow of coffee. Stared at his hands. “It could be hard on you...this place. The isolation. Being alone.”
There was so much knowledge of the word alone in his voice, she felt the pain she knew he’d never admit to. She could only guess at the loneliness he must have felt in the course of his life. Her smile turned bittersweet as his gaze shifted toward the window.
“I’ve been alone most of my life, too,” she said softly. “I expect this to be an improvement.”
She felt something then that she suspected he’d deny to the nth degree. A bond. They were worlds apart, yet in that moment she knew something of where he’d come from and likened it to where she’d been.
“You’ll get bored,” he said abruptly.
She couldn’t help it. She laughed when he stubbornly refused to give it up.
“Hardly.”
He drew another contemplative breath, frowned at his cup. “Mark will have to go to school.”
“Amen to that.”
“His problems are far from over. He’s still an angry, mixed-up kid.”
“But he’s on his way to healing. I have you and this place to thank for that.”
“Don’t,” he said so sharply she flinched. “Don’t put your stock there. I’m no role model. And I don’t want to be.”
“I think it’s too late,” she said carefully, puzzled by the sudden harshness of his words. “He wouldn’t admit it, but Mark already looks up to you.”
He slowly shook his head, a tight, cynic’s smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “You’re really good, green eyes.”
The ice in his tone chilled her.
“You did a real number on me last night. Pushed all the right buttons. But you’ve already got what you wanted...so don’t push any harder, okay?”
His eyes had grown hard, his mouth grim. “I accept the responsibility for your coming here. I understand that you can’t go back. For that reason, I won’t send you away. But don’t read more into my decision than is there. Starting with your skewed perception of my effect on your brother—” She hadn’t yet recovered from that blow, when he hit her hard and low with another. “—and ending with any notion you might have that there will ever be anything between us but a physical and a business relationship.”
Because he carried his own scars, Abel knew that not all wounds bleed. The devastation on her face was proof that he’d cut deep. She’d lost all color, all light from her eyes. He regretted causing her pain, but better now than later. He was guilty of a number of sins, but feeding her illusions wouldn’t be one of them.
He could not let himself get close to this woman. He couldn’t afford to. Wasn’t sure he could survive it.
Last night she’d brought him close—so close—to exposing the weakness he’d guarded the better part of his life: the wanting to let someone in.
He’d imagined himself opening that door to her—only to have her slam it in his face. Just thinking of the damage she could do had been enough to set his head back on straight. And now she knew where she stood.
Though it went against his better judgment, he would let her stay. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to let her leave, now that he knew her story. While he felt a legitimate concern that Grunewald might be a threat, L.A. was a bigger threat to her and Mark. And J.D. was right. Grunewald’s quarrel was with him, and if it did extend to Mackenzie and Mark, he’d make damn sure nothing happened to them.
“This is your last chance to back out,” he said. “If you stay, it will be as my wife. I’ll see to your needs and I’ll expect you to see to mine. But that’s as far as it goes. Are we clear?”
He endured the silent probe of her eyes. He knew she was looking for a sign...any sign that there was something more than cold, calculated reserve behind his blunt ultimatum.
“As crystal,” she finally said. “As my husband you’ll take care of me. As your wife I’m expected to take care of you...in bed.”
The defeat in her voice almost blew his defenses out of the water. He closed his eyes. Swallowed hard. Wanted, in that moment, to be more than he was, more of what she needed him to be. But it wasn’t that simple. Just like life wasn’t simple or sympathetic or even sane.
That was the crux of this entire miserable mess. There was nothing sane about wishing he could give her all the things a woman like her deserved. There was nothing sane about the way she’d reduced him to wanting.
And he did want her. He’d wanted her from the moment she’d vaulted onto his back, clawing and pecking at him like a mother bird protecting her young.
“It won’t be unpleasant for you.” That much he could give her. “But if you expect more, you’ll only be disappointed.”
She looked out the window. Gave a small resigned shake of her head. “I learned about unrealistic expectations a long time ago.”
When she faced him again, he saw that the fire was back in her eyes. So was the grit that had gotten her this far. But the soft light of hope was gone...and for that he was sorry.
He offered the only explanation he could. “It’s all I have to give. I’m sorry.”
Her chin raised a notch. “No need. And don’t wony. I made a bargain. I’ll stick to it.”
“It’s the wilderness, for pity’s sake,” J.D. groused, his voice rusty with sleep when Abel raised him on the radio a few minutes later. “You’d think a man could sleep in, in his own cabin, in his own bed, without the neighbors waking him up.”
“Call the preacher.�
�
Silence. Then “Huh?”
“Call him and find out when we can do the deed.”
Abel’s hands were sweating when he flipped off the switch.
It was done. Or it soon would be.
Bundled up in boots, a warm coat and the scarf and gloves she’d bought in town yesterday, Mackenzie slipped out of the cabin while J.D. and Abel and Mark and Casey moved Nashata and the puppies from the loft to the empty spare bedroom and Maggie and Scarlett fussed with details and decorations.
It was December the nineteenth.
Her wedding day.
She needed some time to herself before the ceremony, slated for three o’clock that afternoon.
It was early yet, a little after one, plenty of time to enjoy a few moments of this sparkling, beautiful day.
The sun was blade bright. The air was so crisp and clean it made her lungs burn. Evergreens, draped in their very best snow-laced gowns, crowded around the cabin in the woods like hovering guests, waiting for a glimpse of the bride and groom.
If she could chance believing in omens, this bright, sunny day would bode well for her future as Abel Greene’s wife...and the devil with what he’d said.
Buoyed by renewed hope and an optimist’s determinetion, she listened to the sound of the snow crunching under her feet, the call of a blue jay as it flitted from tree to snow-laden tree—to the inherent peace and pure, uninhabited silence of this winter wonderland.
This would be her home now. This would be the place where Mark would grow to manhood and where, quite possibly, she would raise children of her own.
A soft smile lifted her lips as she burrowed her chin deeper into the fur-lined collar of her coat. She liked the idea of children. As improbable as it seemed, she liked it a lot.
What also seemed impossible was that she was about to marry a man she’d known for a sum total of five days. Not only was she looking forward to sharing his bed, she was looking forward to sharing his life—even though he’d gone out of his way to point out that there would be no love in their relationship. Sex, yes. But never love.
She hadn’t come here expecting that, so his cold, harsh assessment of their life together shouldn’t have hurt her. But it had.
As she’d sat there two mornings ago, stunned by his bluntness, she’d realized she’d been lying to herself. In spite of all her posturing about being prepared to accept whatever he gave her, the reality was she wanted more. She’d always wanted more. Abel’s bluntness had sliced like a knife.
So at first she’d hurt for herself. She’d mourned what was not to be. Wallowed in missed opportunities and the loss of her romantic hopes. It wasn’t that she thought she loved him. It was that she wanted to and she’d hoped that he might want to care about her, too.
That morning in his kitchen he’d slammed the door on either possibility.
When she’d gotten past the disappointment, it had come to her that something wasn’t quite right with the picture he’d painted. He’d worked a little too hard to convince her he was uncaring, unfeeling and indifferent. She hadn’t been able to see it at first—she’d been too busy nursing her own wounds to realize that he was wounded, too. And he was protecting himself by shutting her out.
At length the true picture had fallen into place, and she’d realized what she was really up against. She’d finally understood why a man like him would resort to advertising for a bride, then lay out the ground rules like clauses in a contract.
It wasn’t that he was indifferent. It wasn’t that he was cold and calculating. A man without feelings wouldn’t have gone to such extremes to warn her away.
What Abel Greene was, she’d concluded after reading all the signs, was afraid. Afraid of commitment. Not because he couldn’t accept the responsibility. But because commitment required a large degree of trust. Trust required opening himself up to the possibility of getting hurt. And everything about this man—from his hard, hungry eyes, to his staunch, schooled denial—suggested he’d endured all the hurt he could handle in his life.
He was, by intent, a recluse. He was a man who entrusted his friendship to a select few. A lonesome man who had not yet accepted that it was all right for him to not want to be alone.
His interaction with Mark supported that conclusion. He understood Mark. She’d watched them together these last two days. The bond between them had grown as they cared for Nashata and the pups, chopped wood, took care of the horses or talked quietly of the lake and this land—the one thing Abel didn’t pretend to be indifferent to—and she was delighted to see Mark’s anger erode inch by inch.
Abel Greene could claim he didn’t care until the snow melted. For his sake she wasn’t going to buy it. His sake and hers and Mark’s. If for no other reason than that he was giving her brother back to her, she was going to make him see the light.
She brushed away a tear with her gloved finger. “You’re a melancholy sap, Kincaid,” she sputtered with a sniff, and refocused her thoughts. “And today you’ll become a wife.”
Bless J.D. and Maggie and Scarlett. As soon as Abel had given the nod, they’d sprinted into action, determined to make this a special, memorable occasion.
As Abel had complacently let them prepare the cabin for the ceremony, she’d gotten an even stronger sense that he wasn’t dreading it as much as he let on.
“At least the part that involves the marriage bed,” she whispered aloud, drawing in a deep breath of cold, bracing air.
She’d made some big promises that first morning in his kitchen. Promises that went far beyond what her limited sexual experience could fulfill. What if she disappointed him?
What if he disappointed her?
A nervous laugh burst out with thought, ringing softly through the forest. As if a man like that could possibly disappoint any woman.
“I can’t believe you can find anything to laugh about.”
She whipped around at the sound, her laughter drifting away at the defensive set of Mark’s shoulders and the darkness of his brooding scowl.
While he had come a long way she’d sensed his seesawing emotions during the wedding preparations of the past two days. She had been tempted to ask. But she’d also learned something about patience in dealing with her brother. Mark had come out here for a reason. If he wanted to talk about it, it was up to him to initiate the dialogue.
So she waited, instead of prodding him.
Finally, after looking at everything but her, he let it out. “You’re marrying him because of me.”
She stuffed her gloved hands deep into her pockets. “I’ve made worse bargains in my life.”
Tears filled his eyes. Tears he quickly blinked away with an angry jerk of his chin and enough determination to will the wind to stop. “You shouldn’t have to. You shouldn’t have to bargain because of me.”
“If not for you,” she said quietly, “then who should I bargain for?”
He hunched his shoulders and showed her his back.
“I love you Mark,” she added after a stretch of silence. “But I’d lost you and I wanted you back.”
Head down, he plodded to a jack pine and picked absently at the bark.
“I like it here.” His voice was choked with more guilt at the admission. “I don’t want to go back to L.A. If I was a man, I’d lie and tell you I did. I’d convince you I wanted to go back so you could go back to your life. And then you wouldn’t have to marry him.”
Her own eyes filled with tears as she walked up close beside him. “I thought you liked Abel.”
He sniffed and batted at the tree trunk with a booted foot. “I do. But you’re the one who has to marry him.”
She reached for him then, cupped his slim shoulders in her gloved palms and turned him to face her. “He’s a good man, Mark. I could do worse. Much worse. And here’s something else you need to know. I like him. I like him a lot.
“This is going to be good,” she assured him, responding to the turmoil in his eyes. “For all three of us.”
; His look held so much guarded hope she threw caution to the wind and tugged him into her arms. The old Mark would have backed angrily away. The new one let her hold him.
“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I think maybe Abel needs us as much as we need him.”
Her statement brought a snort from him and the last of his patience with her sisterly embrace. He pried himself out of her arms. “Abel doesn’t need anybody.”
The simple, straightforward words spoke of hero worship. She understood that. She also understood that Mark had just voiced her biggest fear where Abel Greene was concerned.
For the first time since coming outside, she felt a deep, worrisome chill. She prayed that Mark was wrong. She prayed that in the days, the weeks, the years to come, that the man she was going to marry would come to care about and need her as much as she did him.
“Come on,” Mackenzie said, pushing her concerns aside and heading for the cabin. “Let’s go see if everything’s ready up there.”
Including the bridegroom, she thought, pushing aside the fear that he might leave her standing at the altar.
Seven
They’d turned the cabin into a cathedral. Maggie and Scarlett insisted that with its lofty ceilings and towering windows it hadn’t taken much effort. Mackenzie knew better.
Candles burned everywhere. Red candles. Green candles. Milky white candles. Long slim tapers were surrounded by holly and pinecones. Tiny votives floated in cranberry-studded crystal bowls. Thick, slow-burning house warmers were trimmed with ribbons and bells. Their soft light flickered in every windowsill, on the low accent tables and across the evergreen-draped mantel that was to be their altar.
The cabin was redolent with the scent of hot, spiced cider, cinnamon and evergreen. Poinsettias—vibrant red, mottled pink, speckled white—graced each step of the loft stairs and joined the candles on the mantel.
Yesterday, J.D., Mark and Casey had trooped into the woods, searched for and found the perfect Christmas tree, which they’d cut down and dragged home with the help of the team of Belgian horses.
Over twelve feet tall, the tree sat regally in a prominent corner of the living room, adorned in twinkling lights, glittering garland and sparkling ornaments that Scarlett had generously shared from the supply she used to decorate the rooms in the Crimson Falls Hotel.