by Cindy Gerard
No. It wasn’t okay, but it was all Doc was going to give him.
Lee lifted Ellie, drowsy and mostly asleep, carefully out of the truck and headed down the walk to the house. She was like a little bird in his arms. Satiny soft, featherlight and so vulnerable it made his chest hurt. Her thready sigh fluttered like a butterfly’s wings along the hollow of his throat as he shifted her slight weight more securely against him.
An April breeze rustled the satin of her flowing gown, stirred the downy curls at her nape while the late-afternoon sunshine she’d been so determined to shine on her wedding day, shot golden fire through her hair. The delicate little snore that snuffled out would have made him smile if he hadn’t felt so frustrated and helpless and still so damn uninformed.
He looked down at the woman in his arms and accepted that it would be a while before she was up to talking—or for anything else for that matter.
Until today, the anything else had been a concern, yes, but still, a foregone conclusion. He was no monk. Even though he’d known she was an innocent, he’d also known he wouldn’t be able to leave her that way. Look at her. What man could leave her alone? He’d planned on going slowly with her, but he’d had every intention of making her his wife in every way.
Now, though, now he wondered if maybe…well, now he wondered about a lot of things. Not the least of which was this intense and unfamiliar surge of feelings that went beyond obligation and duty. Hell, they even went beyond concern, and courted an unsettling notion that maybe there was more in jeopardy here than her health—like his lifelong contention that other than a physical relationship, he had little else in him to give a woman.
Large as life and with the clarity of crystal, a six-month-old conversation came to mind. The immediacy of it startled him. So did the content.
“You don’t give a damn do you?” Sara O’Brien had fired the accusation at him like a bullet when he’d broken things off between them last fall. He’d been seeing Sara for several months. She was a nice woman and he’d enjoyed her company. But she’d developed feelings for him, strong feelings, and he’d known it wasn’t fair to her that he couldn’t return them.
Her brown eyes had been swimming with hurt and anger that he had apparently put there, and with what he’d strongly suspected was love—an emotion he had never trusted. He’d been up-front with her from the beginning. He hadn’t been looking for forever. He’d thought she’d accepted the ground rules. By the time he’d figured out he’d been wrong, it was too late to do anything but back away—like he always backed away.
“You don’t give a damn that I love you.” She’d shaken her head, her soft, chestnut curls dancing around her face. “You never have.”
“I’m sorry, Sara. I don’t know what to say. I never meant to hurt you.” And he was sorry, even if his words had sounded hollow.
She’d laughed, a harsh sound, tempered by grim acceptance and anger. “And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? You really don’t want to hurt me. You stand there, and even now you cannot comprehend, cannot even fathom, why it hurts so much. Because you don’t understand love, do you, Lee? Don’t understand it. Don’t get it.”
She’d turned her back then and, squaring her shoulders, reached for her pride. “You know what? I feel sorry for you. At least I know what it feels like to love someone. You never will. You’ll never let yourself—and of the two of us, that makes you the most pathetic.”
Ellie stirred against him and dragged him away from that uncomfortable Texas memory to the woman in his arms. She tried to lift her head as he climbed the porch steps.
“Where—”
“Shush.” He pressed his lips against her temple and concentrated on her. On what she was feeling, not on what Sara had known that he couldn’t feel. Her skin was smooth and warm there, her hair as soft as silk and just as fine. “We’re home, Ellie. Just rest and I’ll put you to bed.”
She looped her arms tighter around his neck as he reached for the door. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when…when I pictured you carrying me over the threshold,” she murmured and snuggled closer.
A flood of affection filled his chest. His fairy-tale princess had been up for a fairy-tale wedding day. He wished it could have turned out that way for her. “How about you just hold that picture and when you get to feeling better we’ll do it right, okay?”
“Okay.” Her misty response was so faint he barely heard her, yet with that one word, she gave her trust over to him completely.
Just like that. Just that sure. It rocked him, that trust. More even than Will’s entrusting him with the ranch had rocked him.
He hadn’t come back to Shiloh planning to let Will down. And he wouldn’t. Ellie—well, Ellie was a different matter. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he pretty much figured it was a given. She had stars in her eyes. She saw him as romantic. She wanted a marriage built on love—not deathbed promises and payment of debts.
He wished, for her sake, that he could give it to her. Just like he wished he could have given something more to Sara. She’d been wrong, though. At least about one thing. He did understand love. He’d known love in this house. He’d just never learned how to give it back. He strongly suspected that it had never been a part of him in the first place—either that or it had been beaten or leached out of him long before the Shilohs had found him.
Whatever, it hadn’t been a part of him then. It wasn’t a part of him now. For that, for Sara and especially for Ellie, he was sorry.
Grim-faced, he climbed the stairs with her curled like a kitten in his arms. “But we’ll get by, Ellie,” he whispered into her hair. “We’ll get by just fine.”
He would take care of her. He would give her everything that he could…and knew in his gut that it would never be as much as she deserved.
Three
It was after midnight and Lee was in her virgin’s bed.
He hadn’t intended to be. He’d set his mind to making her comfortable, tucking her in, then doing some serious brooding.
He’d wanted to brood about all the things that he wasn’t now and could never be for her. About this feeling of helplessness. Of knowing she was in pain. Of not knowing what lay ahead for her.
But more than he’d wanted to brood, he’d hated the thought of leaving her alone. So when he’d laid her down and untangled her arms from around his neck, her softly murmured “Don’t go” had shot his intentions all to hell.
“Shush,” he’d whispered to those big lavender eyes that were clouded with a medicated haze and a distant-but-very-real discomfort. She’d still managed to make him see how desperately she wanted him with her. “I won’t go anywhere, Ellie. I’ll be right here in the chair.”
“In the bed,” she’d insisted, and damned if that hadn’t finally made him smile.
The lady knew what she wanted. And she knew how to get it. At least she knew how to get it from him.
He’d touched his hand to her face. “All right. In the bed, but let’s get you comfortable first, okay?”
With grim determination, he’d gone to work on her gown.
His hands were big. The satin-wrapped buttons were small. And there must have been a hundred of them. He hadn’t been prepared for that.
He really hadn’t been prepared to deal with the sweet little body he’d uncovered underneath all that billowing white satin.
“I’m too small,” she’d whispered as she’d lain there, too out of it to cover herself, yet very much aware that he was watching her.
It had taken several long, deep breaths to recover as he’d stood there by the bed, his hands full of yards of wedding dress, his chest full of a heart that was hammering like a sledge.
Sweet Lord. She was so tiny. So flawlessly exquisite against pale pink sheets in her white lacy underwear and sheer, shimmering stockings. He was stunned by the delicate, porcelain perfection of his bride and tried to think of how fragile she was, how breakable.
But all he could think of was that she was his. All the heat of that
pale silken skin he’d uncovered belonged to him now. The romantic heart that had tucked a dainty blue hanky beneath the lacy edge of her thigh-high hose, his. The soft fullness of her breasts covered by sheer lingerie that had been sewn in the shape of flower petals. The shadow of downy, copper curls at the apex of her slim thighs.
His.
The picture came before he could squelch it. So vivid, so immediate it hit like a sucker punch. They were naked. It was full daylight. He wanted her in the sunlight. He wanted to see all of her. He was on his back in her bed, cushioned in down, covered by her; she was poised above him, that magnificent hair spilling down her back, her breasts rosy and wet from his mouth, her nipples pearled into tight little beads as she settled down on him, took him deep.
She moaned. It was soft but full of pain, and it snapped him back to the moment like a bucket of ice water. Board stiff, he studied her face, relieved that she appeared to finally be sleeping.
On a deep breath he laid her dress over a rocker in the corner of the room. Then he cleared his mind, settled his blood, slowed his breathing. With deliberate and calculated movements, he pulled the sheet and coverlet up to her chin, then sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her. He loosened his tie, undid a couple of buttons. Elbows propped on his thighs, he dragged his hands wearily through his hair.
The reality of what he’d just done finally hit him. Like a bare-knuckled fist, it pounded dead center into the middle of his chest.
What had he gotten himself into? Worse. What had he gotten her into? A marriage that she’d really had no say in choosing, that’s what. Sure, she thought this was what she wanted, but she was young. Naive. She was also absolutely dependent upon him.
And he wanted her.
He buried his face in his hands.
She was ill.
A slick ball of nausea rolled over in his gut.
“Lee.”
He cleared his head and turned to her with a strained smile. “I’m right here, Ellie.”
“Don’t leave me.”
Something inside of him tightened, then gave, like a bow when the tension was released—and just that fast, everything snapped into perspective. He couldn’t exactly call it relief. What he could call it was acceptance.
He owed Will. That was the bottom line.
So he was struggling now because he’d finally figured out that he owed Ellie more than what he’d come to Shiloh prepared to give her. He’d thought it had been enough that he’d left his life, his work, his plans, that he’d made a sacrifice coming back to Shiloh—even as he’d told himself Shiloh was what he’d wanted, what he deserved.
Ellie…Ellie had just been part of the package. From a distance he’d been fine with that. He’d intended to be good to her. He’d intended to take care of her. He still did. He just hadn’t realized until now what that might entail.
In sickness and in health.
From Texas the actual consequences of returning to Shiloh had been abstract. Workable.
Now…now it was getting damn sticky. He hadn’t counted on the extent of her dependence on him. He also hadn’t planned on—was having trouble coming to terms with—this knot of desire he’d been trying to deny since he’d come back two weeks ago and made arrangements for her father’s funeral and her wedding all in the space of a week.
Her wedding.
His wedding.
In a way, he supposed, he’d viewed this marriage as a solution for him of sorts. Long ago he’d tired of the singles scene, the ritual dating dances, the plastic smiles and hungry eyes of the women who hadn’t understood that the most he could give them was never as much as they had ultimately wanted. Women like Sara. Who he had hurt.
So, yeah, marriage had taken him out of that loop—efficiently, effectively. Good for him.
Not good for Ellie.
She needed more. And gradually, he was realizing that she deserved more.
“Lee?”
Resigned, he slipped out of his jacket, tossed it over her gown and eased down on top of the covers beside her.
“I’m right here.” He folded her carefully into his arms.
“Promise. Promise you won’t leave me.”
If he hadn’t been lying down, the whisper of desperation in her request, whether drug-induced or real, would have brought him to his knees.
“I won’t leave you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, tucked her closer to his side. “I won’t ever leave you.”
And he wouldn’t.
He was here. He was committed. He would stay.
She snuggled against him, all warm curves and unquestioning trust. An ache of emotion welled up behind his eyes, as acute as it was unexpected. It blindsided him, caught him completely off guard. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut then blinked back the sting of moisture that he refused to acknowledge was actually there.
He pressed his face into the cinnamon-sweet fragrance of her hair. Then he hung on. Just hung on to her as if she was suddenly his anchor—when he was supposed to be hers.
“I won’t let you down,” he murmured into the silk of her hair and tried to outgun these unfamiliar emotions she wrung out of him with absolutes. She was his obligation. She was dependent on him. And he’d promised Will.
“I promise, Ellie, I won’t ever let you down.”
Twilight came and went, and still he held her.
The grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer chimed the midnight hour, then one. He stared into the dark, his arms full of woman, his mind rejecting thoughts that just kept twisting back around into a stunning conclusion, no matter how hard he tried to divert them.
He’d come back to Shiloh to claim what was his. And yes, he’d come back to take care of Ellie. He hadn’t come back because he needed her softness in his life. He didn’t need anyone—never had. He didn’t need this sense of home. He didn’t need it…so bad he hurt with it. Refused to acknowledge that he was afraid to trust the good of it. The goodness of her and the weakness of needing everything she represented.
She murmured in her sleep, squirmed restlessly.
With his hand in her hair, he settled her. With his eyes wide open, he stared into the night and waited for morning to come—and with it, the detachment and distance from all these feelings that he counted on daylight to bring.
When Ellie finally awoke it was raining. It was also morning. She could tell even as she lay for a moment with her eyes closed, testing the weight of her headache and finding it mostly gone. The gentle patter of a morning shower rapped at her window, hurried by a wind gust, then abated again to soft little spattering taps.
She smelled the damp-earth scent of it and thought of her garden. She smelled the rich scent of musk on her pillow—and thought of her husband.
Eyes suddenly wide open, she stared first at the ceiling, then turned her head to find him. Gone.
The disappointment of it slowed the rapid beat of her heart. She touched her hand to the indentation in the pillow where his head had been. Cold.
But his scent lingered. And her memory stirred. He’d held her in the night. Warm strength. Gentle hands. Solid muscle.
A tear welled up before she could stop it. She’d wanted to give him so much more on their wedding night. She’d wanted to give; instead she’d ended up taking, like she always ended up taking from the people she cared about.
Rolling to her side, she pulled the covers up to her chin and glanced at the clock by her bed—10:15 a.m., Sunday, April fifteenth. Her first day as a wife. She was alone in her bed. And she was still a virgin.
Her heart sank as she watched the rain bead then run like tears down the windowpane.
That’s how Lee found her.
He stood in the doorway, peripherally aware of the garden of pink roses that adorned her bedroom walls, the fussy lace curtains, the four-poster bed covered with an acre of fluffy white down coverlet.
But it was the look of his bride that held him spellbound. Her back was to him, and she didn’t know he was there. He
r hair trailed behind her on the pillow like a tumble of shining ribbons as she lay watching the rain. The way she’d tucked her fisted hands under her chin was childlike and vulnerable—not so the soft curves that even all that down couldn’t conceal. It was a woman’s body that warmed the sheets. A woman’s body that had snuggled against his through the night.
And it was a man that she needed this morning. A man who knew her limits and could impose a few of his own.
He had a handle on all that now. He had a handle on what she needed from him. She needed his strength and she needed his care. Beyond that, it was up to him to keep the lines from blurring and the mix from getting too intense until she was ready for more. If she was ever ready for more.
“Mornin’, Ellie.” His voice felt gravelly, sounded gruff as he stepped farther into the room and set the breakfast tray he’d prepared on the table beside her bed.
He watched her carefully as she lay there, her silence telling of how uncomfortable she was. With him in her bedroom? With the memory of him in her bed?
Or are you still sick, little one, and berating yourself because of it?
He settled a hip on the mattress at her side. “How are you feeling?”
She continued to stare out the window, avoiding his eyes. After a long moment she let out a breath that spoke as eloquently as her words. “I’m sorry I ruined our wedding day.”
So, it was humiliation not nerves that kept her from facing him.
“Ellie…you didn’t ruin anything,” he insisted gently. “You were sick. It wasn’t something you could help.”
She slowly rolled to her back, then lay there, staring at the ceiling with eyes devoid of emotion. “It’s never something I can help.”
He’d witnessed her laughter; he’d witnessed her tears. Neither had as profound an effect on him as this blank look of utter defeat. He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, a hundred questions rattling around in his head. For starters, what could he do, what could he say that would lessen the bruised look on her face? Bruised pride. Bruised spirit.