by Jane Porter
Thomas smiled his entire way to the barn.
She was funny, this impetuous bride of his.
From the moment he met her, she’d been nothing but proud and prickly and fiercely independent.
She was high-handed, and stubborn, and nearly impossible, but he liked her fire. It matched her gleaming hair and her bright clear eyes that revealed everything she was feeling. She was painfully transparent and pathetically easy to torment and tease.
He shouldn’t like tormenting and teasing her, but he did.
He liked the way her eyes widened and her lips parted before snapping closed. He liked the storms in her gaze as well as the dazzling light.
She was so alive. It was rather extraordinary to be near someone who felt so intensely. Her warmth was rubbing off on him. She was making him feel things he didn’t think he’d feel again—laughter, lightness, pleasure, desire.
Maybe there was hope yet for him.
Chapter Nine
Ellie burned their supper.
It hadn’t been intentional. She just wasn’t very good at frying things, as the oil became quite hot and then started smoking and she didn’t know how to keep turning the pieces of chicken so she wouldn’t get burned from the splattering grease and the chicken would be rotated properly to cook all the way through before going black.
Mrs. Baxter had always made it look easy. Heat the oil, dredge the chicken in flour and salt and pepper and then put each piece in the oil and turn them every so often until the chicken was a nice golden brown, crunchy on the outside, and moist and tender on the inside.
Instead their chicken that night was a crispy black on the outside and pink and raw on the inside.
Thomas made a gallant effort to eat the chicken, too, but after two tentative bites, he took his plate, and hers, and carried them to the counter.
Without a word of criticism he cracked some eggs, whisking them, before cooking them in a smaller skillet to give them a quick, hot, edible supper.
Thomas hadn’t made a fuss as he scrambled the eggs, and warmed slices of ham, and yet Ellie felt like a failure.
“I’m sorry,” she said as Thomas pushed away his plate.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he answered.
“I told you I wasn’t a cook.”
“I wasn’t, either, not until necessity forced me into the kitchen.”
“When was that?”
“After my mam took ill.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask another question but he’d abruptly risen and was stacking the plates, carrying them to the sink.
“I’ll wash,” she said, hating the uncomfortable knot inside her chest. “You take care of the things you still have to do today.”
“I do need to look at the ledgers.”
“I’m fine. Go to the parlor and do what you must do.”
But instead of using the desk in the parlor or even the dining room like her father used to, he spread the books out on the kitchen table and made notes and scribbled numbers and calculated sums and periodically Ellie would glance at him as he worked, taking in how his big shoulders hunched and his head bent over the books.
She wondered if he was a little farsighted, or maybe he was just concentrating.
Either way, she couldn’t stop watching him, keeping a closer eye on him than necessary, finding him a little too appealing sitting at the table, his chambray shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the collar open at his throat, revealing far more of his chest than usual.
His skin was tan and smooth and every now and then she got glimpses of taut muscle. She felt a strange thrill looking at him, but the breathless tingle frightened her.
She wasn’t afraid his mind-numbing kisses would ruin her, but that this new desire would change the dynamics with him, upsetting the already delicate balance between them.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d want more from him, not less, which would give him more power over her. And with power came control.
She was already worried that he had too much control, and she’d been struggling these past few days with the fact that he’d quickly, easily stepped into her father’s shoes, making the ranch his.
The way things were going, she’d also soon be his, and then who would she be?
What would happen to Ellie Burnett? Would she be gone forever, replaced by this new person called Mrs. Sheenan?
And yet it wouldn’t be easy to resist him. She liked how she felt when he drew her into his arms. She liked how his touch stirred something in her, making her feel hot and fierce and wonderfully alive. After the months alone in her room, she welcomed the sensation of being so alive.
“I’m afraid I don’t like your deals and agreements,” Thomas said from the table, dropping his pen and stretching before leaning back in his chair and extending his legs. “I propose a new agreement, one that isn’t about what you want, but what I want.”
For a moment she didn’t understand and then comprehension came. Heat washed through her and she nearly dropped the plate she was rinsing. “You mean, have... relations?”
“Why not consummate the marriage?”
Her face felt hot. She lifted a shoulder. What kind of question was that?
Instead she answered evasively, “I suppose because I’m not ready.”
“You’re afraid because you don’t know anything about it. The physical side of the relationship is perhaps the easiest. It is certainly the most pleasurable. Far more pleasurable than arguing over how I manage Harrison, or how he should manage me.”
She swallowed uncomfortably, her hot face now prickling. She didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t want to make eye contact any longer, but even staring doggedly into the sink, she could see him, his chiseled face all hard angles and planes, his mouth firm and quite kissable, his eyes that smoldering brown.
She’d thought him handsome that first night in front of the Graff Hotel, but he was even more appealing now, and not simply because of his looks, but because of his confidence and competence and the fact that he was somehow managing her. Quite spectacularly, too.
She darted a swift glance in his direction before focusing again on her skillet. “I don’t think this is the right thing for us.”
“Why not?”
“We still barely know the other—”
“I think we know each other surprisingly well.”
“Perhaps from your point of view.”
He chose not to respond to that. “I think after the first time, you’d be glad.”
“I doubt it.”
Her tart answer elicited a chuckle, the sound deep and rich, rumbling in his chest. “You’re passionate, Ellie—”
“I’m not sure I understand the hurry, Mr. Sheenan,” she interrupted, turning to look at him. “These things take time.”
His eyes met hers and held. “We’ve been married for over three months.”
“Let’s revisit the topic in six months. Or better yet, a year. I promise to be more amendable then.” She turned back to the sink and attacked the pan with focus and zeal, hoping he’d realize that the subject was closed. It was time for him to move on.
She heard his chair scrape back and then his footsteps on the floor. She sighed inwardly, aware that he was leaving, and she resented him for making her feel bad. They had an agreement. He might want to change the—
She lost her train of thought as she became aware of him standing right behind her.
Ellie bent her head and scrubbed the pan harder. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t let him know you’re flustered.
He was so close now she could feel his warmth even without them touching. Her pulse quickened and her body tingled with awareness. And then his head dipped and he kissed her lightly on the side of her neck.
She stiffened, resisting, but Thomas casually wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her back against him. Hot bright sparks shot through her and she sucked in a breath, feeling every place their bodies touched, and then he kissed her again, slight
ly lower on her neck, and even lighter, sending yet another shiver racing through her.
Ellie closed her eyes, feeling how her bottom pressed against his thighs, and how his hand splayed on her middle, his palm flat against her stomach, his warm fingers flexing, gently kneading.
Her legs trembled. She clutched the skillet handle. “I’m trying to do the dishes,” she protested, voice low and husky.
He ignored her, kissing her neck again, finding another spot, this one just beneath her earlobe. “I’m not stopping you,” he answered.
She closed her eyes as his lips lingered on the delicate sensitive hollow, heating her skin, the coolness of his lips sparking nerves that weren’t just in her neck, but far below.
Ellie reached for the scouring pad, the rough metal grating her knuckles. “I can’t concentrate on dishes when you do that.”
“You’re not trying very hard,” he said, lips traveling down her neck, making her pulse beat wildly, recklessly. “Finish scrubbing the skillet.”
“I can’t.”
His hand slid up her stomach, over her ribcage, stopping just under her breasts. She could feel the back of his fingers through her corset and bodice of her gown, and she could feel her breasts swell, straining in response.
She wanted him to press up against her breast, hoping that would ease the teasing, maddening sensation building inside.
“Try,” he answered, lightly biting at her neck.
She gasped and leaned forward against the sink, hands bracing herself as pain and pleasure raced through her. She hadn’t imagined a kiss or a touch could melt her, nor had she expected that a nip of his teeth would make her feel hot and wanton.
His palm covered her breast, his fingers finding her budded nipple, rubbing it through the fabric and then giving the taut peak a tug. Sensation streaked through her as bright lights flashed in her head.
“Finish,” he insisted.
She wanted to turn in his arms and kiss him. She wanted his arms around her and his mouth drinking her in, all of her, making her tingle, making her hum.
She’d never felt so many things before and it was wonderful and maddening, but mostly wonderful and if she could just have him hold her and satisfy this restless yearning feeling, satisfy the emptiness and the hunger. It wasn’t just the physical craving, either, and it wasn’t just curiosity, it went deeper than that. She felt more than that. She felt desperate to not just have his touch, but him, his hunger and his heart—
Ellie stiffened, drawn short by the thought.
It was a strange, bewildering thought.
She didn’t want his heart. Why would she want him to love her? She didn’t love him. She didn’t even like him.
Or maybe she did like him, a little...
Or maybe she didn’t like him, but simply desired him.
It was confusing. Too confusing. Suddenly her eyes burned and a lump filled her throat and she used an elbow to push him back. “I will be able to finish once you leave me alone.” The words would have stung if her tone was sharp. Instead it was soft and broken.
Thomas heard the change in her voice, and it resonated more than the elbow to his ribs. Was she crying?
“You don’t have to admit that you enjoyed yourself,” he gently teased. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Ellie straightened, and made a soft sniffle sound. “You’re far too confident of your abilities.”
“Careful. I love a good challenge. Unless you’re ready to end up in my bed tonight, I wouldn’t throw the gauntlet down.”
“Well then, no gauntlet thrown because the last place I want to be is your bed.” She shot him a cool quick look. “For one, it’s far too small.”
Her eyes were wet and yet her lips quivered in a faint smile.
He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or spank her, or both. She was so smart and sassy and beautiful and he wanted her mouth and wanted her naked and it was all he could do today to keep away from her.
She had no idea how much he wanted her.
She had no idea how much she tested his control.
“Why were you about to cry?” he asked.
“I wasn’t.”
And yet her voice was still husky and he wanted to know the truth. “But you did get upset.”
She seemed determined to brush him off, and turn it into a joke. “When am I not upset? Papa used to say I was a regular powder keg, just waiting to explode.”
He shifted to the side, and leaned against the counter next to her, so close that his hip brushed hers and he could see her face clearly.
It still wasn’t dark yet outside, even though it had to be close to nine. Thomas loved how long the days were in summer here. The long summer reminded him of home in the best sort of way.
“I like your emotions,” he said.
“Ha!”
“I do. I have none, so it’s good one of us feels something.”
She looked up at him then, her green eyes wet. “Everyone has emotions. You just don’t like to show them. It must be a male thing, because Papa was the same way.”
“Perhaps it is a male thing,” he said wryly. “And speaking of male things, I should go do my last check on the animals before securing the barn for the night.”
But as he headed out, he glanced at Ellie, still at the sink. She was frowning down at her blackened skillet, lost in thought and he wondered what she was thinking. She hadn’t told him why she was upset, effectively sidestepping his questions by mentioning her father. It had distracted him just enough for him to drop the subject, but he was concerned.
He might not be comfortable expressing his emotions, but he was equally uncomfortable being the source of her pain.
So what had made her teary tonight?
He wanted to understand so he could make sure not to do it again. They had made a good marriage, and were a good match, and there was no reason they couldn’t enjoy each other. The physical would help cement their relationship, provided they could weather the emotional ups and downs.
Ellie followed Thomas out the mudroom door and stood on the small back porch, chewing the inside of her lip, watching him stop at the corral and check the gate and before continuing on to the barn.
He was big and confident and nothing like her father, but somehow he’d stirred something in her, bringing her to life, and as he disappeared into the barn, the big door closing behind him, she felt a peculiar pang, that was bittersweet and perplexing.
She liked him.
In fact, her feelings were stronger than like. Her feelings were suspiciously strong, as though she’d had feelings for him all along...
As though she hadn’t just noticed him that night in December in front of the Graff, but had fallen for him...
Was that why she’d been so sharp with him when he’d stopped to help her after her buggy incident, because instead of helping her, he’d chastised her?
And had she perhaps wanted to marry him, not because he was big and physically fit for the work, but because she was attracted to him, and didn’t want to admit her feelings?
Ellie closed her eyes and then opened them, finally seeing what she hadn’t been able to see before.
She’d wanted Thomas from the beginning. She’d fallen for him right away, and had wanted him, and had convinced him to marry her, because he was the man she’d always wanted. He was the man her heart desired.
And if all that was true, then she’d lied to him when she’d married him. She’d told him she didn’t want anything from him, and had no expectations of him...
Which was a lie.
She didn’t just have expectations, she had hopes and dreams... dreams of being loved just as she loved him.
She loved him.
Ellie gulped a breath and held it, overwhelmed.
By acknowledging the truth, she’d just changed everything.
The acrid smell of charred meat greeted Thomas as he entered the house through the mudroom and he suppressed a sigh.
He was tired and hungry and he
ached from head to toe thanks to being thrown across a horse stall by an irate black stallion.
Sitting down on the narrow bench in the mudroom, he tugged off one boot before gingerly working off the other, trying not to wince as he freed the throbbing foot.
He peeled off the sock and examined the swelling.
It wasn’t pretty but he also didn’t think any bones had been broken.
“What happened?” Ellie’s voice came from the kitchen doorway.
He heard her concern and shrugged. “Nothing.” There was no point worrying her, not when she was going to have to apologize to him for again burning dinner.
He didn’t know why she found the basics of cooking so challenging. But maybe all women did. Or maybe it was because she didn’t have a mother to teach her.
He didn’t know, and he wasn’t in the mood to be sympathetic when it was her horse who had bit him and then kicked him because Oisin was fed up with being trapped in his stall.
Thomas was fed up, too. He wanted supper, a proper supper, something filling that would appease his hunger and let him go to bed with a full stomach tonight.
“You’ve cut your cheek,” she said, “and torn your shirt.”
“I lost my footing,” he said, trying to muster enthusiasm for more scrambled eggs and ham and hard flat biscuits when he craved fluffy mashed potatoes swimming with butter, and flavorful meat pie steaming hot out of the oven.
“You’ve been fighting,” she said.
He rose and winced again. “Yes. And as you can see, I lost.”
“Why did you get into a fight?”
“Ask your damn horse.”
“Oh.” She twisted her hands together. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I need to ride him.”
“Yes, you do.”
And then as he limped past her into the kitchen, she blurted, “I burned our steaks. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been trying to do two things at one time.”
“It’s okay,” he said, seeing the skillet with the two blackened strips of what appeared to be leather. Another completely inedible meal. He closed his eyes, battled for patience, and then opening his eyes he looked across the kitchen and stiffened.