by Mindy Neff
Despite the gaiety Eden projected, Stony noted the strain around her eyes. With her bright smiles, easy conversation and nimble fingers on the guitar strings, she was doing a pretty good job of fooling everyone around her—everyone but him.
He saw her get up, place her guitar in Nikki’s lap and excuse herself. He pushed away from the barn wall and followed her.
‘‘Gentle with the guitar, Nik,’’ he said quietly as he mounted the porch steps, passing Marcus, who was on his way down. ‘‘Just like with the baby horses.’’
‘‘Okay, Daddy.’’ Her little hands opened so that the guitar was just sitting in her palms—in danger of falling to the ground.
He squatted, placed his hands over hers, showed her with actions the amount of pressure to use—just like his grandmother would have done with him.
‘‘When you finish being a rock star, why don’t you and Rosie go to the stable with Demone and spend some time with the pony so she won’t get lonely.’’ He glanced up at Demone who nodded, understanding that he had kid duty for a bit.
Demone had been on this ranch longer than Stony had, and from the day Nikki had come to live with them, he’d been as territorial over the little girl as Stony and Grandma. Stony knew he wouldn’t mind.
As Stony expected, the reminder of the Shetland pony he’d imported from Britain a couple weeks ago was a lure Nikki couldn’t resist. If he would let her, she’d take Rosie and sleep in the stall with the little horse.
‘‘I better not be a rock star anymore ’cuz Pony’s ears might not like it,’’ she said as she gently balanced the guitar on his knee and waited until he’d gotten a good hold on the neck before she let go.
Stony agreed, but kept that to himself. Nikki’s underdeveloped vocal cords made her sound like a wolf with laryngitis baying at the moon. But what she lacked in singing skills she made up for with sheer exuberance and volume. And that would definitely annoy the hell out of the little Shetland who was still adjusting to her surroundings, still new enough that Nikki had yet to settle on a proper name other than Pony.
Stony exchanged another look with Demone. Assured that Nikki was in good hands, he rose and went into the house to check on Eden, to see if his suspicions were on target.
The bathroom door was closed, and it took everything in him to wait patiently for her to come out. He knew she rarely locked doors—he’d found that out the first week she’d been here when he’d accidentally burst in on her. For the first time in thirty years, a blush had stained his cheeks, and he’d immediately slammed the door.
Eden had handled the awkward situation better than him. When she’d come out, she’d laughed away his stammering apology and told him she’d lived alone for so long she never thought to lock the door. With dimples creasing her cheeks, she’d told him he was lucky she even remembered to close the door.
Well, the door was closed today. And the longer it stayed that way, the tighter his muscles bunched.
To hell with it. He raised his hand to knock, but his knuckles never touched the wood.
The heartbreaking sound of her sobs breached the mahogany-stained oak and speared right into his heart.
Damning propriety and privacy, he twisted the knob, strode across the room and scooped her right up off the low tile wall at the front of the tub.
Startled, she instinctively fought him.
‘‘Easy, baby,’’ he said softly, and cradled her in his lap as he sat on the closed lid of the commode.
With a shudder that ripped a piece of his heart, she fisted his shirt in her hand, curled into his chest and wept.
He closed his eyes, swallowed hard. ‘‘Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.’’
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she whispered.
‘‘No need to be sorry.’’
Her breath hitched, and he tightened his hold on her, the sound of her tears cutting him to the quick.
‘‘I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. That I wouldn’t get my hopes up.’’ Still gripping a wad of his shirtfront, her fist pounded against his chest, punctuating each agonized sentence. The blows were featherlight, expressing pain rather than inflicting it. ‘‘They’ve been riding high since that first day…after the wedding.’’
He laid his cheek on the top of her head. ‘‘I know.’’ Neither one of them had expected the wild, incendiary chemistry that had flashed between them from the onset, a craving need they fed on voraciously night after night.
Truthfully, it had been in the back of his mind, too, that by right of sheer quantity—quality quantity—they’d have immediate success.
But with success would come an end. Could that intrusive thought have been subconsciously undermining their bodies? His?
He buried his lips in her hair, rocked her, could feel her using every bit of her waning strength to get a hold on her emotions. He felt so damned inadequate, didn’t know what to say or what not to say.
He’d seen her longing every time Hannah had stopped by, the awe when she’d placed her hand on Hannah’s swollen stomach. And he knew what these monthly cycles did to her, both mentally and physically.
Even if it meant that she’d go away, that he’d lose her, he wanted to give her what she desperately, genuinely yearned for.
A baby in her womb.
A chance to experience a miracle.
‘‘We’ve got time,’’ he said.
With her cheek still resting on his chest, she looked up at him, nodded, her eyes red-rimmed and vibrantly green. He smoothed damp auburn hair back from her temples, swept away the tears that bathed her face, leaned down and gently kissed the corners of her eyes, her lips, kisses that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with healing.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and Stony could taste the agony in the back of his throat. Hers and his. ‘‘Oh, baby, don’t.’’
She gave a watery laugh. ‘‘Pitiful, isn’t it? A grown woman over thirty without the slightest control over leaky eyes.’’
He passed his thumb over her bottom lip, over the slight dimple peeking out of her cheek. ‘‘Naw. I think there’s a rule somewhere that says women don’t have to give a fig about control or feeling weepy.’’
She sniffed. ‘‘Cryin’ shame Eve had to pluck that doggone apple.’’
‘‘Mmm, hmm,’’ he murmured idly. ‘‘If she was here, I’d hold her down so you could slap her.’’
Her spontaneous laugh was a cross between a sob and a hiccup. She shifted in his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged. Hard. He expected the pressure to ease within about two seconds and was surprised when it didn’t, when her arms continued to squeeze. Steadily. Tightly.
He placed his palm between her shoulder blades, gently patted, felt the silk of her long hair slide against his fingers and over his forearm. And still, without the slightest pressure from his hand keeping her there, she clung.
Something in his chest thumped, as though a padlock had just clicked open. No woman had ever held on to him like this, like she wanted to crawl right inside his skin and stay there, like he was her lifeline, her hero.
Then softly, so softly, she whispered against his neck, ‘‘Thank you, Stony. You are a very, very special man.’’
He closed his eyes. But not special enough for you to stay.
EDEN PICKED UP THE PHONE, knowing she had to call Carrie and check in. Lately, she’d been forgetting about her business, and that wasn’t fair to Carrie, especially since her partner was being good enough to carry the entire load while Eden pursued pregnancy.
‘‘Garden of Eden, Carrie speaking.’’
‘‘How’s it going, Mugs.’’
‘‘Eden! You’re worrying me to death, I’ll have you know. How come you haven’t called?’’
‘‘I did. Last week, remember? And the phone works both ways, pal.’’
‘‘Yes, but I’d hate to interrupt the honeymooners.’’
‘‘So don’t call me in the middle of the night.’’
‘‘What, those bo
ys out in Montana haven’t caught on to the joys of making love in the daylight?’’
Eden took a breath, leaned her head back against the pantry door. Every night she and Stony made love like greedy teenagers, passions raging nearly out of control. And sometimes it was easy to forget that they weren’t like most other newlyweds. They touched, explored and whispered words that bordered on love yet were carefully interpreted as pleasure.
But in the light of day, they were more like roommates. He did his thing and she did hers. And subtly, not unkindly, Stony kept a shield between them.
Out of nowhere a lump formed in Eden’s throat, and she had no idea why. It was just that lately she’d found herself yearning to hold hands in public, wished she could at least sit with Stony on the sofa, drape her legs over his thighs, have him pull her into his lap, his big, capable hands hooking around her thighs and holding her tighter to him as they watched some sappy movie on television. Just that.
Not sex.
Romance.
As though they were truly married.
A foolish, foolish yearning.
She knew why their intimacy rarely extended past the bedroom. It was the only way each of them could hold back a piece of themselves, to pretend that they weren’t in over their heads, that when the time came, hearts wouldn’t be completely broken.
And with the intoxicating power of desire that flashed between them—night and day—holding back was darn near killing her.
‘‘Eden? Dang it, I’m an insensitive jerk. I didn’t mean to tease. I know how important this is to you.’’
‘‘Hey, I’m fine.’’
‘‘Are you sure? You went all quiet on me, and you know how I get when people aren’t talkin’.’’
Eden grinned. ‘‘Mugs, folks usually can’t get a word in edgewise with you.’’
‘‘Oh, see there? I try to be sweet, and she calls me a motor mouth.’’
Eden laughed. ‘‘So how’s tricks?’’
‘‘Jumpin’ like frogs on a hot skillet.’’
‘‘But?’’ Eden asked, having known Carrie long enough to pick up on undertones.
‘‘You’d have just died,’’ Carrie said dramatically. ‘‘We had to do this hideous kids party up in Highland Park. They wanted everything purple, and I mean everything. The cake, icing, spaghetti…well, you get the drift. I used a case of food coloring and blueberries. The whole thing was terribly tacky, Eden, especially for such a ritzy neighborhood.’’
Eden laughed. ‘‘I bet you were up to the task. How about the servers?’’
Carrie groaned. ‘‘Remember the California raisins doin’ a little dance to ‘Heard It through the Grapevine’? That was us. Purple makeup on our faces, purple spray in our hair. Took me three washings to get the junk out. And the worst part of the whole thing was the little party girl was a brat.’’
‘‘Ah, you poor thing. How was the pay?’’
‘‘Profit city. That’s the only saving grace. Of course, I inflated the bill outrageously.’’
‘‘Shame on you.’’
‘‘Purple hair, Eden. Think about it.’’
Eden laughed. ‘‘Yeah, I guess that is pretty bad. Wish I’d been there to see it.’’
Hearing a sound at the doorway, she turned and smiled at Stony. ‘‘Hang on a sec, Carrie.’’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘‘Did you need me?’’
Oh, that sounded wrong. Like a proposition in broad daylight. Besides the fact that they didn’t do daylight, she was on the phone. Then again, the sight of Stony Stratton in tight jeans, sexy leather chaps and a Stetson pulled low over his brow was enough to give her a hot flash.
If he said yes, she was terribly afraid she’d drop the phone and forget all about Carrie. And that would never do. Carrie would have a field day primly reminding Eden that good girls were taught to have a little restraint, to exercise a little decorum.
To preserve her dignity, she quickly amended, ‘‘I meant—’’
‘‘I know what you meant,’’ he said quietly. For several charged seconds his gaze didn’t waver.
Eden was used to him speaking quietly, used to his intense looks, but there was something different about him today. She frowned, wishing she could read him as easily as he seemed to read her most of the time.
Her palm was still over the phone, and she wondered if he thought she didn’t want him to listen to her conversation. Before she could tell him she didn’t mind, he shook his head and said, ‘‘Just passing through. Didn’t mean to interrupt.’’
When he went by her on his way to the back door his scent swirled around her. Leather, fresh air and masculinity. A very potent combination.
‘‘Eden? Are you still there?’’
A bit dazed, she lifted the phone to her ear and tore her eyes away from Stony’s behind as he disappeared out the door. ‘‘I’m here.’’
‘‘What’s the matter with your voice?’’
‘‘Carrie, have you ever seen a cowboy in chaps?’’
‘‘Sure. Over at the honky-tonk in town.’’
‘‘No. I mean a real cowboy. Dusty scuffed boots, chaps buckled low on the waist and tied high at the thigh, the leather worn and dirty from saddles and horses, jeans that mold to the man so perfectly you can see which side of the fly his—’’
‘‘No!’’ Carrie shrieked in an oh-my-gosh-tell-me-more tone.
‘‘Yes. Clearly.’’
‘‘John’s doesn’t show like that.’’
‘‘John wears baggy pants.’’
‘‘Maybe we’ll go shopping for jeans tonight. I wish I knew what this Marlboro Man of yours looks like.’’
‘‘He’s not really mine,’’ Eden said on a sigh. But she was really starting to wish that he was. ‘‘Ask Aunt Lottie. She’ll show you a picture.’’
‘‘I just might do that. Do I still have to dodge the judge?’’
Eden laughed. ‘‘No. Mom’s cool about the whole thing—sort of. She said if I wasn’t home by Christmas they were coming out.’’
‘‘Well, that’ll be cozy. Oh, dang it. They shipped me the wrong oil again. Jennifer!’’ Carrie hollered. ‘‘Catch that delivery guy.’’
‘‘Sounds like you’re busy,’’ Eden said. ‘‘So I’ll let you go.’’
‘‘Are you okay?’’ Carrie asked. ‘‘Need money or anything?’’
‘‘I’m fine. You call me next time, okay, Mugs?’’
‘‘Will do. Just not at night,’’ she teased.
STONY WAVED as Vera Tillis carried a paper sack out of his kitchen, put it in her truck and drove past him.
Eden had been baking again. No, again wasn’t the right word. Still was more like it. And he would bet money that Vera had delivered a load of supplies from the store. It was starting to bother him that he never saw a bill or any extra charges on his account.
Seemed a lot of things were bothering him lately. But damn it, she wasn’t paying for one more load of groceries, never mind that she’d practically opened a coffee and sweets shop right in his kitchen.
And there was the other rub. It had only been a little over a week since she’d cried in his arms as though her heart had broken, breaking his heart, damn it, then spent several days in pure agony as her life seemed to drain right out of her before his very eyes.
Scared the living hell out of him is what she’d done.
He kicked dirt off his boots by the back door. Watching her suffer so bravely had been bad enough the first time—before the ceremony. This time it had been worse. Maybe because of the intimacy; maybe because the stakes were higher—health versus a baby and one unproductive month already used up. He didn’t like feeling so damned helpless when she grew so weak.
And it had really annoyed him when she’d suggested she go sleep back downstairs during ‘‘her time.’’ He gritted his teeth. She hadn’t wanted to disturb his rest. Did she think he could sleep knowing she was practically bleeding to death? Did she think he could just close his eyes an
d not worry that she’d passed out on the floor or something?
He stared at the back door, wondered if he should just skip lunch. He was in a mood, felt as though there was something right behind his sternum that was about to bust out. He didn’t mind all these people stopping by for coffee and rolls and stuff, but he worried that Eden was going to overdo. She was so stubborn.
And she looked so damned right in his kitchen, entertaining his neighbors, blending in as though she’d lived here all her life. But she hadn’t. And she wouldn’t.
I wish I’d been there to see it. Her words were still echoing in his head from yesterday.
There was his problem, he knew, the reason he was feeling like a mustang with a burr under his blanket.
She’d been talking to her business partner. A reminder that he wasn’t a long-term husband. Just the stud.
He raked a hand through his hair. That sounded nasty, even in thought. He would like to think he was a little more than that. A friend, at least. A friend she just happened to have a wild, insatiably incredible sexual relationship with. Even now, watching her move so effortlessly, so familiarly around his kitchen was giving him a hard-on.
Hell, he was pathetic.
Giving his jeans a tug, he walked into the kitchen. Eden smiled and Iris beamed. ‘‘Stony!’’
‘‘Hey, Iris.’’ He saw the plateful of scones and raised his brow. ‘‘Changing the menu at Brewer’s?’’
‘‘Actually, I’ve been trying to steal your wife away.’’
Wife. He breathed deep and lifted his gaze at the same time Eden did. Her eyes skittered away. They both knew that less than five months from now, he’d be left to explain why he and his wife were getting a divorce.
‘‘Since she won’t come cook in my kitchen,’’ Iris said, ‘‘we’ve arranged for her to be my dessert supplier.’’
Stony looked at Eden. Did she really have any business baking trays of goodies for the neighbors when she’d barely had time to recover her strength? She worried him, damn it. Even though she’d given him the green light to do so, he hadn’t made love to her last night—not because it wasn’t a critical time of the month but because she’d still looked a little tired to him, fragile.