Last Year's Bride (Montana Born Brides)

by Anne McAllister

  “Oh, hell, Nell.” His voice was as ragged as the breath he drew as he held her tight and buried his face in her hair. Nell slid her arms around his back, holding him close as his lips moved over her, kissing her hair, her jaw, her cheeks, her chin, and finally—at last—her mouth.

  His touch was thawing her. Since they’d parted in Reno ten months ago, she’d grown progressively colder. At first it had been tolerable because, while she was cold from missing him, she had been sure it wouldn’t last. But as the weeks turned into months, the cold had deepened, her worries increased. When she’d got Cole’s letter with the divorce papers enclosed, Nell had felt as if her heart were frozen clear through.

  And now the ice was melting, the warmth of his arms holding her, of his kiss opening her lips, of his tongue tangling with hers brought her to life again. This was the Cole she remembered, hard and warm and, now, just a little bit desperate.

  And Nell couldn’t believe he didn’t love her. If Cole didn’t love her, he would have stood there, stolid and indifferent, and told her again to sign the papers. He wouldn’t have fought his internal battle, he wouldn’t have looked so anguished. He wouldn’t be kissing her now.

  Relieved, rejoicing, Nell kissed him back. With every bit of pent-up emotion and longing she’d been storing for the past ten months, she gave herself to him. He didn’t stop with kissing. His hands molded her back, her hips, the swell of her buttocks. They urged her closer. One of his knees tried to slip between hers, but her sheath give little scope for such maneuvering, and she heard a frustrated mutter from Cole’s throat. Then he changed tactics, his hands moving to the zipper at her back. In one fluid motion he had the zip down and the dress off her shoulders. “Mmmm.” The word came as a murmur between his lips as he pushed the bodice down further and began to kiss her shoulders and her breasts.

  A part of Nell wanted just to relish these kisses, to bask in their attention, to soak up the feel of Cole’s lips on her. It had been so long.

  But another part of her couldn’t remain still, couldn’t just accept. She needed to touch, to stroke, to learn his body all over again. And so she tugged, pushed his suit coat away from his shoulders and was grateful when he shifted first one shoulder and then other, then shrugged it off. Even as he did so, she had pulled his shirt tails out so she could put her hands on him. They slipped under the cloth and slid up his back, remembering as they went. There, that jagged little ridge was the scar from the barbed wire, and that longer one by his shoulder blade was from when he’d caught a tree limb in the back. She catalogued the map of scars as her fingers moved over him, then slid around to his sides.

  “What’s this?” Her fingers stopped on one near his waist, so new her touch made him suck in a breath.

  He turned his torso slightly to avoid the contact. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, his lips still teasing her breasts.

  “It does,” Nell pulled back. “Show me.” She began unbuttoning his shirt.

  Cole sighed. “Got kicked by a horse a couple weeks ago.” He stripped off his shirt as soon as Nell got the buttons undone. Then she tugged his undershirt over his head, tossed it aside and made him turn again so she could see where the skin had been broken, and the area around it still showed yellow and dark purple bruising as it dipped beneath the waist of his trousers.

  “Oh, Cole.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  Not now, maybe. Nell suspected it might have been at the time. Not that he would have admitted it. She laid her palm against it lightly, turning her head, kissing his shoulder, then moving down his arm, dipping beneath it to kiss him where he was bruised, touching her lips to the scar.

  He groaned. “Gotta get you out of this.” He was sliding her dress over her hips as he spoke, letting it pool at her feet. His fingers were callused, rough skin and tiny nicks and scratches caught on her sheer stockings as he peeled them down next. “Sorry.” His voice was a mutter against her abdomen.

  Nell fisted her hands in his hair. “I’m not.” Not sorry at all. She was burning with need of him, her fingers fumbling with his belt.

  “Let me.” Cole made quick work of both the belt and zip, shucked all his clothes, then, not even giving her a chance to do more than glimpse the bare magnificence of Cole McCullough, he bore her down on the bed.

  God, she had missed this! Missed him. Her hands ran over his heated flesh, followed the small knobs of his spine to the dip of his lower back. Her lips nibbled the curve of his ear, the line of his recently shaved jaw.

  They’d had so little time together, that she’d tried to tell herself that she couldn’t possibly feel as lonely as she’d felt these past months. But the truth, now that she was in his arms, was that the emptiness had been profound. It was like finding the other half of her self—her heart—and feeling able to breathe, to live once more.

  His hands were all over her as well, making quick work of her bra and pants, then tracing her curves with his fingers, relearning the slope of her breasts, the concavity of her abdomen, the slight swell below just before he reached the juncture of her thighs. His fingers walked the line, followed by his lips. His soft hair brushed her breasts as he worked his way down. Nell held her breath as she felt his warmth against her, felt his fingers part her, touch her.

  She twisted, shifted to make room for him, reached to draw him down. But he resisted, sat back on his heels between her knees and looked into her eyes.

  His expression was solemn, dark, unreadable, really. His skin was taut across his cheekbones. He looked almost in pain. Or in prayer. An anguished prayer.

  “Cole?”

  His jaw clenched, his eyelids shut, and for a moment she feared that he would pull away, leave her there.

  But then he opened his eyes again. His abs tightened and his chest expanded as a breath shuddered through him. She saw him swallow and he moved to stroke his hands down the front of her, slowly, deliberately, watching her reaction as his fingers touched her, parted her, stroked her, made her shift her legs and open for him.

  His mouth twisted as he came down to her, as she touched him, made him suck a harsh breath at the stroke of her fingers along the length of him. “Nell.” His voice was strangled as he warned her, “Playing with fire.”

  Nell only smiled. “Burn me down.”

  It was half invitation, half challenge—and all desire. And need. And pent-up emotion. And now—now he was here—and coming undone at her touch.

  She was ready for him, and there was no doubt he was ready for her. He came to her, then, hard and hot, silk and steel. She could feel the tremor in him as he slid in, knew she was trembling, too, as she wrapped around him and she brought him home.

  She’d known coming to Marietta was a risk. Just like marrying Cole had been a risk. But you never had a life without taking a risk. Her parents had taught her that. They’d adopted five of their six children from far-flung parts of the world, had reached out— opened themselves and their hearts— to children they had never met.

  “Best thing we ever did,” her mother had told her more than once.

  And her father had agreed, smiling at them both and adding with a long look at her mother, “It was—along with marrying you.”

  Nell had grown up wanting a marriage like theirs, wanting to know the confidence that came with making the right choice, finding the right man. “How will I know?” she’d asked them.

  They had looked at each other helplessly for a moment. Then, “You feel a connection,” her mother said. “There’s something there between you. You see the world in ways that complement each other. Not the same, but in ways that make it clearer, brighter, fuller.”

  “You trust each other,” her father said. “You want the best for each other. You challenge each other. You make each other better. It’s just ... right.”

  This here, this now—whatever existed between her and Cole— Nell believed, was right. She had sensed it in the beginning, had against all odds felt it grow. The summer they’d met they’d only spe
nt weeks together, but she’d hated to leave him when it was time to go. And then they’d had those few and far between unsatisfactory phone calls because what Cole felt he never said. He played his cards close to his chest.

  But then there was Reno.

  He’d asked her to meet him there. And when he’d met her train, his face had lit up and he’d wrapped her in his arms, holding her so tightly it felt as if he thought there was no tomorrow.

  It had confirmed everything she’d believed, right down to the words. She’d said them first, “I love you,” not really expecting he’d say them, too.

  But he had. And he’d looked her in the eye when he’d said them. She’d believed he meant them. It was only later—these past months—that she had begun to worry, to question.

  She didn’t question now. He was here now, with her—in her—a part of her as she was of him. They loved each other. She knew it. She could feel it.

  It was like a wave overtaking her, sweeping her along on its crest—his body, her body—together. She splintered. He shattered. They were broken—and whole again.

  Two made one.

  She stroked her hands over his sweat-slick back, felt the hammering of his heart against hers, turned her head and kissed his cheek. She smiled. “I love you.”

  And then she slept, settled, comfortable, confident now that whatever had happened, it wasn’t that he didn’t love her. She knew he did. Everything was right in her world for the first time since Reno.

  So it was a shock to wake up to the ring of the phone. Nell groped for it in the tangled sheets. “H’lo?” She shoved her hair out of her eyes, looked around. It was morning.

  “Ten minutes at the front desk,” Grant said briskly in her ear. When she didn’t reply, he demanded, “You are okay now, right, Corbett?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Except she was alone.

  He watched her sleep.

  Cole didn’t close his eyes for the rest of the night. He just lay beside her in the bed and watched the light and shadow of the snow clouded sky play across her sleeping form. They hadn’t pulled the drapes across the tall narrow windows, and in the glow of the street lights, the low-hanging clouds turned the sky a dusky pink. They turned Nell’s hair a dark burnished gold, made him want to thread his fingers through it.

  But if he did, he might wake her. And if he woke her, he would want to make love to her again. And again.

  So he didn’t. He just looked his fill.

  Or tried to. He would never be filled full enough. Cole knew that now. He knew he loved her. Knew he couldn’t resist her standing in front of him, challenging him, defying him to tell her he didn’t.

  He couldn’t do that.

  He couldn’t lie. All he could do was reach for her, admit his feelings in his actions, even if he wouldn’t—this time—say the words. It was because he loved her, damn it, that he had to let her go.

  There was no future for her here. He should have realized that ten months ago in Reno. He should have realized it even before that. He should never had let things get started, let alone go as far as they had. But he hadn’t really been thinking, had he? Not logically. He’d been as bad as his dad, choosing a woman who didn’t belong.

  He should have realized that the first time he met her. She’d had some sort of digital camera in her hands after all. Just because she had been fascinated by rodeo, by cowboys, by him— and his concussion, for God’s sake— and they’d hit it off, that was no reason to think they should spend a lifetime together.

  Well, to be fair, he hadn’t. He’d resisted the pull of attraction. Despite the concussion, he’d enjoyed having her fussing over him. But he’d had the sense to say good-bye to her the next day. He should have forgotten her when she drove away.

  But he hadn’t. And a couple of weeks later, in Bozeman picking up a new trailer hitch, he’d had some spare time and Nell’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket. So he’d called and asked her to meet him for coffee. The spark had still been there.

  Hell, the spark was still here now.

  But it wouldn’t last, and Cole knew it. Nell had talent—he’d seen some of the footage she’d shot now. She’d had job offers right and left upon graduation. How could he ask her not to take one? And what if he had?

  He knew all too well what happened when women came to the ranch who weren’t prepared for the loneliness, for the demands, and for the limitations. He couldn’t ask it.

  He wouldn’t.

  But right now—just for this night—she was here. He had her for a few hours.

  She murmured something in her sleep, reached out a hand. Without thinking, Cole touched it and felt her finger wrap around his. She smiled, turned, hugging his hand against her breasts, drawing him close behind her.

  He let himself be drawn. Just for now.

  Before she woke, he kissed her cheek, brushed a light hand over her hair. Wished things were different. Knew they never would be.

  He dressed in the cold and snugged the blankets up around her. She stirred, but didn’t open her eyes. He thanked God she didn’t wake.

  “Sign the papers,” he wrote on the note pad by bed. “It’s for the best.”

  Then he let himself out to drive back to his real life— to feed the cattle in the morning snow, to chip the ice in their drinking water, to feed the horses, mend some tack and replace the light over the workbench in the shop.

  To think about Nell and the night they’d spent—and then to let it go.

  Chapter Three

  “They’re what?” Cole stared at his sister and grandmother in disbelief. He’d just come in from delivering a calf in ten degree weather. His teeth were chattering. His fingers were stiff. He had a crick in his back from kneeling and pulling. He was covered with muck and mud and ice and things he didn’t want to think about. He couldn’t get feeling back in his hands. Nothing was working—apparently even his hearing. “They’re not!” he said again, because he couldn’t have heard Sadie correctly.

  But Sadie was grinning like a maniac, like she’d won the lottery, waving a piece of paper in his face. “Yes, they are!” His sister’s head bobbed eagerly. “It says so right here. The whole Compatibility Game cast and crew will be here in two weeks. Here!” She waved the paper again triumphantly. “On our ranch! A television show!”

  Cole just stared at her, waiting for his ears to thaw. His sister kept waving the paper, his grandmother was giving him a cautious tentative smile. Cole felt a prickle of worry seep into a crack in his frozen brain. He resisted it.

  “Naw,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it.

  He shed his gloves, pulled off his boots and stamped his feet, to try to get some circulation back to his toes. He hung his jacket on the hook by the door, then set his hat on top of it, then rubbed his ears.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Sadie was saying. “Well, no, it’s not really. I mean, I was sure they’d like our place best.”

  Cole just stared at her. “What are you talking about? Why would anyone like our place best? And a television program?” Nell’s television program! It didn’t bear thinking about. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Don’t swear, Cole.” His grandmother pressed a steaming mug of coffee into his hands. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  Maybe he should. He set the mug down, washed his hands, then picked it back up again, dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and clutched the mug in both hands, watching his sister dance circles around the kitchen.

  She hadn’t stopped moving since he’d come in the door. He was accustomed to his sister’s exuberance, but this was even more enthusiasm than he was used to.

  He watched her silently until she settled. It was like waiting for a fly to land so you could swat it. But you couldn’t swat Sadie, literally or otherwise. Her optimism was endless. She was the anti-Sam. He sighed, then leaned back in his chair and waited, his hands firmly anchored on the coffee mug. His grandmother brought her cup over to th
e table, put a plate of fresh baked cookies down and shoved it in his direction. Cole took two.

  At last Sadie spun into a chair and looked at him, rosy-cheeked and beaming. “It’s like this,” she said. “You remember the Valentine’s Ball?”

  Cole nodded. He was still doing his best to forget it.

  “Well, there was a TV production company here that weekend, looking for a place to shoot a couple of episodes of a reality TV show. That girl you dated a couple of years ago—Nell?—she works for them. And she or her boss or somebody heard about the Wedding Giveaway and they thought it would be cool to use a local ranch as a setting for their own wedding couples on The Compatibility Game.” Her smile widened.

  Cole’s fingers tightened on the mug.

  “They contacted the paper and got the names of local ranches. I was there writing ads when Mrs Akers took the call. She gave them some names—and I gave them ours!”

  Cole was hanging onto the mug for dear life.

  “They came out the day after the ball. You and Dad missed them. You were with Mr McKay looking at cattle down by Ennis. Gran and I showed them around. Gave them a tour. Showed them the bunkhouse—”

  “The bunkhouse?” Cole sputtered. “Nobody’s slept in the bunkhouse since Clint and I were kids!”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with it that a coat of paint and some mattresses won’t fix,” Sadie the optimist said stoutly. “They can bring their own sleeping bags. Besides, it’s just for the guys. The girls are going to stay in the house.”

  “The hell you say!”

  “Swearing, Cole,” Gran murmured mildly into her coffee mug.

  “Dad’s not agreeing to this.” He couldn’t imagine Sam doing anything of the sort.

  Sadie shrugged. “Yes, he is.” And at Cole’s incredulous look, she added, “You know Dad—he trusts me.” She gave Cole a guileless smile that turned mischievous at the last second. “And it could have had something to do with Jane.”

  “Jane?” Cole stared at her. “Who’s Jane?”

  “The new Chamber of Commerce woman. That Jane. When they were really interested, I said maybe she should talk to him, too. So she did.”