The Courtship of Izzy McCree

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  He moved his hands lower, to the front of her gown, sliding it open, then easing it over her shoulders. In the shaft of moonlight, her lacy chemise revealed more of her breasts than it covered.

  Feeling suddenly naked and vulnerable, she crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back.

  “Isabella, don’t…”

  The moment he reached a hand to her shoulder she reacted as though she’d been burned. Flinching, she shrank back, evading his touch.

  His eyes, which just moments earlier had burned with desire, were now narrowed with anger. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman? Am I so repulsive to you?”

  “Of course you’re not…repulsive.”

  “Then what is it? Am I asking too much of you?”

  She was too overcome with fear and embarrassment to speak.

  Frustration made his words harsher than he intended. “Dammit, woman. This life might be different from the one you left behind. You may think of me as primitive and unworthy. But I’m just a normal man, with a normal man’s appetite. I haven’t abused you. In fact, I think I’ve been more than patient. Now…” He reached for her again and she flinched.

  Flinched.

  Her reaction cut him to the quick. He muttered a string of fierce, coarse oaths.

  “In my whole life, I’ve never had to force a woman. And I’ll be damned if I’ll start now.”

  Stung, she seized on the only defense she could think of. Forcing the words from between chattering teeth, she said, “I’ve told you before, Matthew. I will not tolerate swearing in my presence.”

  “You won’t tolerate…?” For the space of a heartbeat he was shocked into silence. Suddenly he snatched up his shirt and boots. “Then you needn’t worry. You won’t have to tolerate my presence any longer. I’d rather sleep in the barn.”

  With that, he spun on his heel and stormed from the room.

  The slamming of the door reverberated through the cabin.

  Izzy lay in the big bed, staring at the shifting patterns of moonlight along the walls. Her thoughts were too troubled to allow for sleep.

  What had she done? What if Matthew decided to send her back? He would have every right. After all, their marriage had not been consummated. It was, in fact, a fraud. A lie. She had tricked him. Cheated him. And all in the guise of charity.

  She had thought, once they were wed, that she would be able to put aside her fears. But they were too deeply rooted. Perhaps, she thought with an edge of panic, it was too late for her to ever live a normal life like other women. Maybe each time he came near her she would freeze up and shut him out.

  How long would he tolerate such behavior in a wife? And why should he? Indeed, why should any man?

  I’m a normal man, with a normal man’s appetite.

  His words mocked her.

  “I’m the one who isn’t normal,” she whispered. “And no amount of pretending will ever change that.”

  Oh, she’d tried. She had really convinced herself that this new life, so far from all she’d ever known, would be the beginning of a new Izzy, as well. She would be Isabella Prescott. Mrs. Matthew Jamison Prescott. Mother of his four children. A respected pillar of the community.

  She felt tears spring to her eyes. It had all been a silly, useless dream. There was no community. Matthew’s four independent, resourceful children had no need of her. In fact, they could manage very well without her. And she would never be a wife to Matthew. Not in the way he wanted.

  She wiped away the tears and rolled to her side, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She would do what she had always done when sleep evaded her and trouble threatened. She would spin the wonderful, familiar dream. Of a fine big house. A brave, handsome husband. And loving children, twined around her like flowers on a vine.

  She struggled to hold on to the dream. But she could feel it slipping, fading, growing dim.

  Matt leaned his back against a stall and drew smoke into his lungs. Damned lying female had him tied up in knots.

  What the hell was she after? He fingered the hilt of her knife, which he’d tucked into his waistband. Her story made sense. Maybe. After all, a city woman would have reason to be afraid of what she’d find in the wilderness. Still, she could have told him. He would have allayed her fears.

  And why did she keep it under her pillow?

  Unless she thought her greatest danger was in bed.

  That was what was really driving him around the bend.

  All right, he thought, watching a smoke ring dissipate into the night air. So she’d been hurt in the past. That was pretty obvious. He’d sensed her fears. In fact, he’d taken great pains to show her he wasn’t some kind of brute. Still, she flinched whenever he touched her. Flinched. As if she expected him to hurt her.

  If she was so afraid of being with a man, why in hell had she married him? His eyes narrowed in sudden thought. Maybe she was in trouble. Maybe she was from a good, decent family and running from their criticism. Could she be carrying another man’s child? Hoping for some poor fool to shoulder the blame and the responsibility?

  His nostrils flared. He crushed the cigarette under the heel of his boot.

  Too annoyed to think about sleep, he picked up an ax and headed toward the woodpile. He might as well burn off this anger on something useful.

  As he began to chop wood he was forced to see the folly of this latest argument. If Isabella had been looking for a father for another man’s child, she would have seduced him the first night, to make certain he was trapped.

  That would have been simple enough to accomplish. She was easy to look at, with those big eyes and shy smile, and a body that curved and sloped in all the right places. And the truth was, he was a man who’d been alone too long now and dying of starvation. If she’d given him any encouragement at all, he’d have devoured her like a feast.

  Hell, if she’d wanted to ensnare him, he’d have been a pushover.

  In the past he hadn’t always been the world’s best judge of character. But if he was a betting man, he’d lay odds that Isabella McCree was just plain running scared. Whatever her reasons for wanting a husband, they didn’t include love.

  Well, he’d lived without love for a long time now. And had learned to fill his life with other things. Like children. And work. Hard, demanding work.

  No reason to change now.

  Isabella awoke to the sound of the hounds baying. Dawn light barely threaded the horizon, but the others were already up and moving. Annoyed that she had once again overslept, she dressed quickly, then hurried from the bedroom.

  Benjamin, Clement and Del stood clustered in the doorway, peering into the darkness. Aaron looked up from tossing the rest of last night’s biscuits into a saddlebag.

  “Good morning,” he called. “I thought we’d be gone before you got up.”

  “Gone?”

  He nodded. “Me and Pa are heading up into the hills.”

  She walked to the doorway just in time to see Matt pulling himself into the saddle. He wore a cowhide jacket and wide-brimmed hat to ward off the chill.

  Over his shoulder he called, “Let’s get a move on, Aaron. I want to catch those mustangs before they get too far.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy brushed past Izzy and the children and tossed his saddlebag over his horse’s back.

  “You children stay close to the—” Matt glanced over and caught sight of Isabella in the doorway. She was wearing the same faded gown she’d worn the night before. Her hair was neatly tied back with a ribbon. She held her hands in front of her, nervously twisting the folds of her skirt.

  “Good morning, Matthew.”

  So. She intended to be civil, did she? Well, he could be just as civil. “Good morning.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  He nodded.

  “How long do you expect to be gone?”

  “As long as it takes to bring home the herd we’ve been tracking. If we’re lucky, we’ll be back in a couple of days. But there’s no telling how long it’
ll take.”

  He forced his attention back to the children. “Stay close to home. Remember our signal.”

  “Yes, Pa.”

  He touched a hand to the brim of his hat, then nudged his horse into a trot.

  Aaron did the same, turning in the saddle to shout, “So long, Little Bit. Benjamin, Clement. You watch out for Isabella.”

  “We will,” they called.

  The hounds set up a howl, eager for the hunt. At Matt’s command, three of them stayed behind, retreating into the cabin, while the others started off at a run.

  Though Aaron had turned in the saddle to wave, Matt continued staring straight ahead.

  A few minutes later the two horses dipped below a rise and were gone from view.

  Isabella turned away, a mixture of relief and regret flooding through her. Though she was fearful of being alone so far from civilization, she knew she had the children and dogs for company. And, she reminded herself, for a few days, or perhaps even a week, she could relax and let down her guard. There would be no pressure to be a wife.

  She would use the time wisely. To familiarize herself with the routine. And to get acquainted with these children, who were so self-reliant.

  After all, at least part of her dream had already come true. Though she might not be much of a wife to Matthew, she was determined to learn how to be a mother to his children.

  Chapter Seven

  “Here’s their trail. I knew we’d pick it up on this side of the creek.” Matt looked up at the sun, just beginning to set on the western horizon. He wiped the bandanna across his face, then pulled himself onto the back of his horse. “We’ll follow them until it’s too dark to see. Then we’ll pick up their trail again in the morning.” That was, he realized, the most he’d spoken all day.

  He turned to glance at his son, who was slumped in the saddle. “Coming?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pulled ahead, leaving Aaron to follow. As they entered a stretch of dense forest, father and son were forced to bend down to avoid low-hanging branches. Occasionally Matt or Aaron would pause to snatch up a handful of horse hair snagged on the bark of a tree. Assured it was from the roan stallion they’d been trailing, they moved on.

  Matt knew his son was weary. Except for a meager breakfast of cold meat and biscuits, they hadn’t taken time to stop all day. He’d pushed them both to the limit. But he’d needed this time on the trail, away from the constant distraction of ranch chores and children’s needs. Needed to clear his mind and think things through.

  He was a man of few words. And when he had something on his mind, he preferred to keep his own counsel.

  Always play your cards close to your vest, son. He could hear his father’s voice even now. No sense letting others know what you’re holding.

  Hell, just what kind of hand was he holding now?

  A full house, he figured. A very full house. But not the winning kind.

  He’d jumped into this without taking time to think it through. But the truth was, Aaron’s remarks about Del had been the deciding factor. Del hadn’t had a single break in her young life. Her mother gone. Only her rough, rowdy brothers for friends. A father who was definitely not equipped to raise her to be a young woman. He figured a fine upstanding church lady like Isabella had been heaven-sent.

  But he hadn’t counted on the fact that she might not want to be a wife in the bargain. He’d been without a wife for a long time now and thought he’d adjusted to doing without. But it was one thing to be alone; it was quite another to have a woman, a living, breathing, flesh-and-blood woman, in his bed and still have to sleep alone. He was going to have to do some heavy thinking and decide if she was worth keeping.

  On the one hand, Isabella was a hard worker. He liked that in a woman. She’d jumped right in, washing, sweeping, scrubbing. In no time she’d have that old cabin shining. And she was a damned good cook. He hadn’t eaten food that fine in a long time. And she was clean. Another thing in her favor.

  But she didn’t know a wolf from a grizzly. Couldn’t handle a gun. Would probably run like a rabbit at the first sign of trouble. And she was a city woman, who might not adjust well to being so far from civilization.

  And she’s scared to let me touch her.

  There. He’d admitted it. That was the thing that stuck in his craw. If there were a million good things about her, they couldn’t weigh in against that.

  What the hell good was a wife who held all her affection inside like a miser? Who jumped out of her skin every time he touched her?

  “…see anything, Pa. What do you think?”

  His head came up sharply. His son had been calling him, but he’d been so engrossed in his thoughts, he’d completely missed the words. “What?”

  “I said it’s too dark to see anything, Pa. We have to stop and make camp for the night.”

  “Yes. Of course.” He glanced ahead to a stand of trees along the bank of the creek. “That looks like a good spot.”

  They reined in their mounts, tethering them nearby, and set about making a fire. Soon the tang of roasted meat and the aroma of coffee filled the air.

  Father and son lay in their bedrolls, their saddles beneath their heads, eating in silence, sipping hot coffee.

  Several times Aaron tried to engage his father in conversation, but Matt continued to slip into his own thoughts.

  Now Aaron cleared his throat. “I noticed something this morning, Pa.”

  Matt looked over at him.

  “You slept in the barn last night. In the stall with old Blue.”

  Matt took a sip of coffee and held his silence.

  “And when we left, you didn’t kiss Isabella goodbye.”

  “I didn’t kiss Benjamin or Clement or Del, either.”

  “No, sir. But…Isabella’s different. I mean, she’s your bride.”

  “I’m aware of that. What’re you getting at, son?”

  Aaron shrugged. “I just think…” He swallowed, weighing his words carefully. He knew his father wouldn’t be happy to hear what he had to say. Still, he felt responsible for bringing Isabella into their lives. “You said a man and woman aren’t the same as farm animals. You said they need to feel a…sweetener to one another before they get married.”

  Matt clenched his jaw. He didn’t know who was more embarrassed by this conversation—he or Aaron. “I know what I said. Now say your piece.”

  “I was thinking that since you and Isabella got married so fast, neither of you had time for that sweetener.”

  “What would you have us do now?” Matt’s voice was as tight as his clenched teeth. “Get unmarried?”

  “No, sir. But I thought…”

  “Get it out, Aaron.” Matt tossed the last of his coffee into the fire, watching the flames hiss and spit before flaring up again. “I’d like to get some peace and quiet soon.”

  “Yes, sir.” Aaron started talking faster. “I thought maybe you ought to court Isabella. With little gifts and nice words. So she’d…fall in love with you. And stay with us.” He knew his face was flaming. And from the look on his father’s face, he’d said way too much. Lifting his blanket, he hunkered down and wrapped it around himself. “That’s all I’ve got to say. ‘Night, Pa.”

  “‘Night.” Matt reached into his shirtfront and withdrew the little pouch of tobacco from around his neck. He shook some into a paper and rolled it, then held a match to the tip. For a moment the light flared in the darkness. Then he drew smoke into his lungs and thought about what his son had just said.

  Damned fool kid. Thought love could be bought with a couple of trinkets and a few sweet words. If that was the case, the whole world would be courting.

  That was all he needed in his already miserable life. A silly ritual called courtship.

  With an angry toss of the blankets he slipped out of his bedroll to check on the horses. Then he paced around their campsite, occasionally pausing to draw in smoke and stare up at the darkened sky.

  He had no time for such foo
lishness. And even if he did, he wouldn’t be any good at it. Hell, he had a ranch to run. Horses to break. And a family to be taken care of. How much more should a man have to do?

  He took a last drag and tossed the stub into the fire. Then he crawled into his bedroll and drew his hat low over his face.

  Damned if he’d waste another minute thinking about Aaron’s half-witted suggestion. He wasn’t about to try anything as stupid as courtship. Especially with his own wife.

  “Aaron, keep them close. Don’t let them scatter.” In the fading daylight Matt watched as his son wheeled his mount and rounded up a mare that had broken from the herd of mustangs. The boy wielded his rope like a seasoned cowboy, easily snagging the black-and-white beauty and bringing her back into line.

  Matt whistled to the hounds and they snapped at the heels of the stragglers, urging them to keep up with his steady pace. He rode in front, keeping a firm grasp on the rope around the roan stallion’s neck. As long as he kept their leader moving, the others would follow.

  He rolled his shoulders and touched a hand to the scratchy beard. It had been a long week. The stallion had led them on quite a chase. But it had been worth it. The herd numbered more than fifty. And at five dollars apiece, or ten if broken to saddle, he was about to earn a very tidy profit. He’d be able to start the addition to the cabin in the spring. And maybe have enough left over to build a second barn.

  As the familiar outline of his cabin came into view, he let out a sigh of pleasure. Smoke curled from the chimney. Soft lantern light glowed in the windows.

  He was building something good here. Something lasting for his children. They could be free here. Free to learn, to grow, to take pride in their accomplishments. Here, far from civilization, the madness of the war that had divided the nation seemed almost forgotten. Here the shame and pain of the past could be put to rest.

  Matt’s horse, sensing food and shelter at the end of a long journey, broke into a run. The stallion raced alongside. When they reached the corral, Matt swung the gate wide and turned the stallion loose. It reared, pawing the air as the rest of the herd followed suit.