The Courtship of Izzy McCree

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  Matt looked up from the saddle he was mending and winked at Izzy. “We did that just to confuse you, Del.”

  While the others chuckled at his joke, Izzy felt her heart do a series of crazy somersaults. All week, despite the endless, backbreaking chores, she had sensed a change in her relationship with Matthew. Though he drove himself and the others endlessly, in her presence he had become more relaxed, more lighthearted. The more she engaged his children, the less determined he seemed to press for an intimate relationship. What was all the more strange, now that he had stopped pursuing her, she felt drawn to him in a way she never expected to be. It was as though a barrier had fallen away, and she was seeing him in a new light.

  What foolishness, she told herself. She was simply imagining things that weren’t really there. He was, after all, a man. And all men had the power to hurt women. If they let down their guard to men.

  Still, he had made no further attempt to kiss her. And she found herself thinking, late at night, about the way his lips had felt on hers. And the way his body felt, all hard angles and planes, pressing into her softness.

  “Bet I can.” Del’s reply to her brother’s challenge brought Izzy out of her reverie. “Knowledge. N-o-l-e-g.”

  As the boys laughed, Izzy said gently, “You sounded that out perfectly, Del. But that’s one of those words that has all those extra letters we talked about. The k at the beginning is silent. And so is the w and the d in the middle and the e at the end.”

  The little girl tossed down her slate in frustration. “I’ll never learn all these words.”

  Izzy picked up the slate and patiently handed it back. “Of course you will. It just takes time. I’ll bet by tomorrow you’ll master it.”

  Aaron looked up from the harness he was mending. “Did your mother teach you, Isabella? Or did you go to a real school?”

  “I…no.” Taken by surprise, she couldn’t seem to engage her brain. Then, seeing Matt’s head come up, knowing she had unwittingly snagged his attention, she felt her cheeks redden. “I didn’t go to a real school. I was taught at home.”

  “You’re real good with numbers and letters.”

  “Yes. I…always enjoyed the challenge of learning. Now, Del, let’s work on your sums.”

  “What was your life like in Pennsylvania?” The little girl ignored the column of numbers Izzy was writing on the slate. “Did you have brothers or sisters, Isabella?”

  “No.” Her voice was tight, controlled. “There was just me.”

  “And your ma and pa,” Benjamin corrected. “Was your pa a farmer?”

  “I had n—” She noticed that Matt and his children had stopped what they were doing to watch and listen.

  She’d had plenty of time to anticipate these questions and to plan her answers. And yet, now that the moment had actually come, she felt a wave of guilt and shame.

  She was about to dig herself into a hole. One that just might swallow her. Still, what was one more lie, after all she’d told this far? She took a deep breath and thought about the daydreams she had spun.

  “I had really nice parents. My pa was a preacher. Tall and handsome, he was, with dark hair just turning silver around the edges.” She conjured up the image of the town preacher she’d watched so many times through the window of the church. She had always imagined what her life would be like if he was her father. “And his wife…my mother,” she corrected quickly, “was small and pretty. A real lady, with a gentle voice and the sweetest smile.” She caught herself before she said too much, and finished lamely, “They were good people.”

  “How did they die?” Del asked.

  “Die?” Izzy blinked.

  “You said ‘were.’ They were good people. Aren’t they dead?”

  “Yes. Of course. They died…in their carriage. It was awful. All bloody and such.”

  “They overturned?” Aaron asked.

  She nodded. “They were trying to cross a swollen stream. They were carried downstream by the current and drowned.”

  “If they drowned, how’d they get all bloody?” Benjamin asked.

  “They…got snagged on some rocks.”

  “Wouldn’t the water wash away all the blood? And how come you weren’t with them?” This from Clement.

  Izzy looked around almost frantically. “I…I was back at the church. With friends. I…don’t like to talk about it.”

  The children were staring at her, their eyes big and round, a dozen questions on their lips. Before they could say another word Matt set aside the saddle. “I think that’s enough for tonight. We have another full day ahead of us. And if Aaron and I push hard enough, we just might have the entire herd ready by the time the army comes for them tomorrow.” He took the slate from his daughter’s hands. “Say good-night to Isabella now. And don’t bother her with any more questions.”

  “Yes, sir. ‘Night, Isabella.”

  “Good night, Del.” Izzy’s voice was still shaky.

  As the little girl climbed the ladder to the loft, the others called out their good-nights and followed suit. When they were alone, Matt placed the slate on the shelf.

  For a moment there was an awkward silence. Then, with his back to her, he asked, “Got any of that coffee left?”

  “I think so.” She walked to the fire and wrapped a square of linen around her hand before lifting the hot pot and pouring. “Just enough for one cup.”

  When she handed it to him he took a sip, then surprised her by offering it back.

  “We’ll share.”

  “Thank you.” She was touched by his generosity. And grateful that he’d given her time to compose herself.

  “Let’s sit by the fire a minute.” With his hand beneath her elbow he led her across the room, where they sat in companionable silence and drank their coffee.

  She waited, anticipating more questions about her past. She was ready now. Cool and composed.

  Instead he surprised her by stretching out his feet toward the fire and giving a long, slow sigh of comfort. “I always like this time of night best.”

  “Why?”

  “The children are safely in their beds. The chores are done. The horses are secure. There’s a kind of peace that settles over the land after sundown.” He shrugged. “My father used to say, ‘God’s in His heaven. All’s right with the world.’ I guess that says it all.”

  “Tell me about your father.”

  Matt stared into the flames. “He was a hard man. A military man. Educated at West Point. Expected his only son to follow in his footsteps.”

  “Did you?”

  “For a while. But it wasn’t my dream.” His tone deepened. “I wanted something else.”

  She studied his handsome, rugged profile. “Do you have it?”

  “Some of it.” He swung his gaze to her and she felt the most purely sexual jolt she’d ever known. “I suppose nobody ever gets everything they want in life.”

  “No. I guess not.” She drained the coffee and, to avoid looking at him, studied the delicate rose pattern on the cup. “Your wife’s dishes are so pretty.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Grace had a habit of collecting pretty things.”

  “Tell me about Grace. That’s a lovely name—”

  He moved so quickly she had no time to react. One moment he was out of the chair. The next he was hauling her to her feet, dragging her roughly into his arms.

  “I don’t want to talk about Grace.”

  The cup slipped from her fingers, shattered at their feet.

  “I…” She could feel the tension humming through him. Could actually see the effort it took to control the range of emotions that were struggling to be free. “All right, Matthew. We won’t talk about…”

  He dragged her closer. “I can’t give you pretty things, Isabella.”

  His hands were rough, almost bruising. She didn’t care. All she could feel was his breath, hot against her temple. And the wild stutter of her heartbeat as those big, work-worn fingers kneaded her arms, her shoulders, then be
gan trailing fire along her spine.

  “I don’t need things, Matthew.” This is what I need. The thought startled her as her blood began to flow like lava through her veins. The feel of strong arms surrounding me, soothing me. Protecting me. Arousing me.

  Sweet salvation. She’d never known such a rush of feelings. Intense, seething emotions. Fire. Ice. Need. All rushing through her system, leaving her stunned and breathless.

  He lowered his head until his lips were pressed to a tangle of hair at her temple. “I’m no good with pretty words, either, Isabella.”

  She shivered. “I don’t…need the words.”

  “What, then?” His lips traced the curve of her brow, the softness of her cheek, the slope of her jaw. And still he avoided her lips until she thought she would go mad from wanting. Waiting. Needing.

  “I don’t know.” Then, as he continued to torment her by keeping his mouth just inches from hers, she said softly, “This is what I want. Just this.” She couldn’t bear to wait another moment. Standing on tiptoe, she brought her mouth to his. “Matthew. Kiss me. Please kiss me.”

  For the space of a heartbeat he went very still, as though unable to believe what he’d just heard. He framed her face with his hands and stared down into her eyes.

  His face lowered to hers so slowly she thought her heart would surely stop. And then his lips covered hers in a kiss so soft, so gentle it had her breath backing up in her throat.

  His eyes were open as he took the kiss deeper, then deeper still. He could actually see her changing. The flush on her cheeks. Enchanting. The flutter of her lashes. Bewitching. The hitch of her breath, the soft sigh that she couldn’t stifle. Thoroughly arousing.

  She tasted of flour and sugar and cinnamon. Sweeter by far than any confection. She smelled as clean, as fresh as a cool breeze through an evergreen forest. He breathed her in and wanted more. So much more. And from the way she was clinging to him, and returning his kisses, he could sense the same in her. Perhaps they had finally opened a door. A door that had been closed between them for so long.

  “I want you, Isabella.” He lifted his head and took a deep draft of air to clear his head. It took all of his willpower to keep from taking her, here and now. But he wanted to make it right this time. Wanted to be very careful, so that she wouldn’t retreat once again behind her wall of fear. “Is it the same for you?”

  She took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. How could she tell him? How could she explain that everything was so new, so frightening? She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She must be a very wicked woman to think what she was thinking.

  He stared down at her, wanting, needing to hear the words.

  When she remained silent his fingers dug into her shoulders, holding her a little away so he could see her eyes.

  “Answer me, Isabella. Do you want this? Do you want me?”

  “I…” Afraid, confused, she brought a hand to his cheek. “I don’t know what I want.”

  He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. A thrill shot along her arm, igniting a fire in her blood.

  “I need to know,” he whispered against her palm. “I need to hear it from your own lips.”

  She pulled back, her eyes wide.

  Passion? he wondered. Or the same old fear?

  “Have mercy on me, Isabella.” The words were torn from his throat. “I can’t stand this anymore.”

  “I don’t think…” She swallowed. “I don’t want…”

  She hung her head, unable to say what he needed to hear.

  “Can you tell me you don’t want this?” He dragged her close and plundered her lips, kissing her until she was breathless. Then he lowered his mouth, trailing hot kisses along the column of her throat.

  Her breath was coming faster now, in short, shallow bursts as she struggled to hold on to her last thread of sanity.

  “Tell me, Isabella. Tell me you don’t want this, either.” He brought his hands to the top button of her gown and tore it in his haste.

  Reflexively, she flinched and let out a gasp. “No. Stop. I don’t…”

  At once he stiffened, then backed up. Need, all consuming, vibrated through him.

  God in heaven, what had possessed him? He had almost been on the verge of forcing her. He had actually begun to believe that she had somehow changed. That overnight she had developed some affection for him. That she wanted what he wanted. This hunger was turning him into someone he didn’t know. Or like.

  She could see the mix of anger and frustration darkening his eyes. “Matthew, I just need time to—”

  “Time.” He swore, viciously.

  “Matthew, it’s not what you—”

  “Not another word.” His voice was a low growl of rage. “You’re driving me to the brink of madness, Isabella. And I vowed I’d never go there again. Not for you. Not for any woman.”

  Before she could explain, he turned on his heel and slammed out of the cabin, leaving her alone and trembling.

  The only thing left to her was the chill that enveloped her like a shroud. His words rang in her head as she moved about the cabin in a state of shock. Her mind was numb, her body frozen as she banked the fire, extinguished the lanterns.

  Even when she crawled into bed and huddled beneath the blankets, she couldn’t dispel the cold that seemed to have seeped into her bones. All she could see was the pain of rejection in Matthew’s eyes. A pain she had known intimately all her life.

  And all the while, the taste of him was still on her lips.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Get back in that saddle, boy. We don’t have any time left to waste if we’re going to have these damned mustangs ready.” Matt’s temper was simmering just below the boiling point.

  “Yes, sir.” Aaron picked himself up from the dirt and limped over to where the mare stood, breathing fire. He winced in pain as he pulled himself into the saddle and continued trying to win the horse’s trust.

  All day his father had driven him unmercifully. They’d started at dawn and had gone until dusk without a break. And even now, though Matt was working with the most defiant member of the herd, the stallion they called Red, there was no doubt the horse would be ready when the army came to call. For above all, Matt was hardest on himself, pushing to the very edge of collapse.

  “Del.” Matt’s voice, angry, gritty, sliced through the silence. “What in hell are you doing sitting there on the corral? Get back to your chores.”

  “Finished ‘em, Pa. It’s almost suppertime.”

  He seemed startled. Where had the day gone? “Then help Benjamin and Clement with theirs. Or I’ll find something useful for you to do. Now get.”

  One salty tear coursed down her cheek as she climbed from the rail and headed for the cabin. Inside, Izzy looked up from the scraps she’d been piecing together for Del’s dress. She searched for some way to soothe over the tensions, though she was still struggling with her own tender emotions.

  “Your pa doesn’t mean anything by this, Del. He’s just worried about having the herd ready in time.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  Feeling clumsy and tentative, Izzy dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Of course it isn’t. And Matthew knows that. But sometimes folks say things they don’t mean when they’re feeling upset.”

  “But why is Pa so upset? This is the worst I’ve ever seen him.” Del pushed away and stared out the window, watching as her adored brother was tossed from the saddle yet again. It pained her to see him struggling so hard to please his father. “Even after Ma, Pa was never this mad.”

  Izzy was reminded of the words Matt had shouted at her the night before. Driving me to the brink of madness. And I vowed I’d never go there again for any woman. She paused beside the little girl to watch as Aaron picked himself up yet again. “Sometimes grown-ups just have too much on their minds. I don’t think your father could ever be intentionally cruel.” She turned away, not wanting to see the way the father and son were punishing themselves. Every fall,
every bruise hurt her heart.

  “Come on, Del, you can help me with supper. I’ve planned a special one to celebrate the sale of the herd. Once your pa concludes his business, I’m sure he’ll be more like his old self.”

  At least that was her fervent hope. She couldn’t bear another scene like the one last night. She still wasn’t certain just what had brought it on. Was it something she had said or done? Oh, she knew so little about men. And this man in particular. He was hot one minute, cold the next. So kind he made her want to weep, then, in the blink of an eye, cold and distant.

  If only she had someone to confide in. She felt so alone and helpless. But there was no point in cursing her ignorance. All she could do now was muddle through. At least, she consoled herself, things couldn’t get any worse.

  She looked up at the chorus of barking from the hounds, followed by the sound of hoofbeats. A group of soldiers was dismounting outside the corral.

  Del ran to the door. “The army’s here, Isabella. Is it all right if I go outside and watch?”

  Izzy nodded, seeing Benjamin and Clement coming in from the fields to join their father and brother. “I don’t see why not. Just keep out of their way.”

  “I will.” The little girl skipped away and Izzy returned to her bread. When it was sliced, she set it aside, then stirred the pot of stew. Perhaps, she thought, the soldiers would stay for supper. She would invite them, as soon as she brought in the clean clothes. She picked up a basket and headed for the clothesline.

  Maybe, she prayed, once the herd was sold and Matthew had all that money in his pocket, his attitude toward his children would soften, at least a little. And then, she added fervently, maybe he would soften toward her, as well. After all, with winter coming, he ought to be able to slow down a bit. Perhaps this temper of his was just a result of too much work.

  The breeze had picked up, whipping her skirts around her ankles. She paid no attention as she reached for the first shirt on the line. From across the clearing she could hear every word spoken by the men.

  “Mr. Prescott. I’m Lieutenant Gideon Trowbridge.”

  The young officer looked hardly old enough to shave. Matt was certain it was his first assignment. “’Evening, Lieutenant. Was your father Gabriel Trowbridge?”