by Jane Porter
The wall was gone. She’d removed all the boards he’d put up. Or she’d had someone remove the boards. The wall looked worse for the nail holes, too.
“I got busy and forgot to keep an eye on the steak,” she said nervously. “I think the fire was too hot again.”
As he turned to her, he saw how she laced her fingers, knitting them together. She was looking at him with worry and even a little bit of fear and he hated that. She didn’t need to fear him. He’d never hurt her.
“I know you put the wall up,” she said in a rush. “But it made everything harder for me, when I’m carrying laundry or trying to tidy the house, and so I thought it’d be nice if we just made the house attractive and open again, and that way if we do invite people over, our guests won’t think we’re having marital problems.”
His forehead creased, torn between amusement and dismay. “Are we having marital problems?”
“Well, it hasn’t been the most idyllic honeymoon. Papa’s funeral and then I disappear for months and now we have to figure out how to get along.”
“I think we’re figuring that part out.”
“Are we?”
“Mmmm.” He glanced toward the kitchen opening with the battered trim. “That must have been a lot of work.”
“It’s fine. It was a good activity, finally had some proper exercise.”
He was still hungry, and still bruised, but he was no longer in such a terrible mood. “How would you feel about going to town for supper? Would you be able to change quickly so we could eat tonight in Marietta?”
“It’s not too late to go?”
“Not if we leave soon, and take your small buggy. It’s been repaired and it should get us there quickly.”
“Especially the way I drive.”
“I think I’ll drive, if you don’t mind.”
“Are you going to hitch Oisin, or should I?”
He made a rough sound in the back of his throat. “I think we’ll let Oisin sit this one out and we’ll take Crockett to town. He could get us there and back with his eyes closed.”
“I’ll go change.”
“Can you grab me a clean shirt from my room on your way down?”
She nodded and hurried up the stairs, but as she rushed away, Thomas saw her smile and her smile warmed him. It felt good to make her smile. She deserved to be happy. She deserved a man who’d cherish her, and spoil her a bit.
Ellie was back downstairs in just a few minutes, having changed into a butterscotch yellow dress with a bustle and fitted sleeves. The square neck had a delicate burgundy lace trim and there was a matching band of burgundy on the sleeves and hem. The yellow and red should have clashed with her vivid hair but instead she looked fresh and bright and perfectly elegant for a summer night’s drive into town.
They were on the road, and had been traveling north for a good fifteen minutes before Ellie asked him if they were going to the Graff for supper.
He shook his head, the reins loose in one hand. Crockett was such a dependable horse. He needed little guidance. “I’m taking you to the diner on Main Street. I’m sure you’ve eaten there before.”
“Actually, I haven’t. Papa wasn’t fond of the woman who owned it.” There was laughter in her vice, and her smile was impish. “I think years ago he had a relationship with her, and when it ended, it ended badly. He couldn’t ever speak of her without shaking his head and muttering things under his breath.”
Thomas smiled. “Why do you think it ended?”
“I imagine she wanted him to marry her and when he wouldn’t, she broke it off, and then he was upset because I suspect he was quite fond of her.”
Thomas cleared his throat. “You have quite an imagination.”
“Papa was a romantic.”
He glanced at her, expression mocking. “And you’re not.”
She colored and sat up straighter. “No. I’m practical.” And then she averted her face and watched the passing scenery with intense interest, as if the landscape was all new to her.
They traveled for long minutes in silence. Thomas was smiling on the inside. Ellie amused him. Even when she wasn’t trying to be funny, she still managed to make him laugh.
“Do you know what I’m ordering tonight at the diner?” he asked after a while, breaking the silence.
She was still staring out at the trees and shrubs lining the Yellowstone River. “Burnt steak? Undercooked chicken?”
The corner of his mouth curled. She was still annoyed with him. “Do you think those delightful options will be on the menu?”
“Well, they would be at home.” Ellie looked at him, her spine straight, her green eyes flashing. “Incidentally, I can be practical, and romantic. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He grinned at her. She was so fiery and fierce and oh, how he wanted her. He was a physical man who expressed himself through touch. He didn’t like words, and didn’t trust words, but in bed he was able to communicate just fine. Now he just needed to get her into his bed and make her his. He ached to make her his.
Soon.
It was a sleepy night in Marietta, and Ellie suspected that everyone was still probably worn out from the Fourth of July festivities the week before. She was tempted to ask if they could stop by Johanna’s shop, but it was late and she didn’t want to delay them in case the diner stopped serving supper anytime soon.
They were seated immediately in the café with the red brick walls and copper ceiling. There were big wooden booths lining the walls and then tables scattered in front of the huge plate glass windows.
The menu was written on a black chalkboard on the wall, and Thomas ordered the steak & stout pie and she chose the pan-friend trout. In the end, she wished she’d ordered the hearty meat pie, a dish of beef cooked with bacon, onions, mushrooms and a good dark beer, before being covered with a flakey crust and popped back into the oven until the crust was a mouthwatering golden brown.
Thomas gave her a bite of his supper, and it was flavorful and delicious. “I’ll have to try to make this,” she said. “But I suppose I need to get the recipe.”
“Do you cook with recipes?”
“I haven’t so far.”
“Ah.”
“I’ve tried to cook from memory but that hasn’t worked out so well. I think having more specific directions might help,” she said earnestly.
He grinned. “Perhaps.”
“You’ll have to tell me what your favorite meals are so I can try to make them. I will probably burn or ruin most, but at least you’ll know I made the effort.”
“To burn my favorite meals?”
She laughed out loud, eyes crinkling at the corners and for a moment Thomas couldn’t breathe around the strange ache in his chest.
She was so beautiful. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, but now that she was his, he’d take care of her, and protect her as if his life depended on it.
And maybe it did.
Although she’d been laughing, she’d also been watching Thomas closely and she saw the moment his expression changed, humor giving way to something more elusive and mysterious.
“Why did you marry me?” she asked.
He leaned back against the wooden booth. “Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re the most beautiful woman in Marietta. Maybe the most beautiful woman in Montana.”
She arched a brow, deliberately provocative. “So you married me for my face?”
He grinned lazily. “And the rest of it.”
“And what does that mean? My property... my inheritance?”
“No, your figure.”
She’d just taken a sip from her glass and she spluttered. “You have studied my figure?”
“Of course. If a man says he only wants you for your mind, you can rest assured he’s lying.”
Ellie set her glass down, both amused and delighted by his answer. Her father had always had a good sense of humor and she enjoyed the banter. “You admit you’re shallow.”
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br /> “Absolutely, irredeemably shallow.”
She couldn’t stop smiling as her gaze skimmed his face, and the relaxed way he sat back against the booth, as if the world, and everything in it, was his. “Did you expect me to be so much work?”
“I did.”
“So you were prepared?”
“More than prepared.” And the he paused, adding, “But in all fairness, you are not that much work.”
There was something in his deep voice that made her insides tighten, putting a little flutter in her chest. “And yet I hate doing laundry,” she said breathlessly.
“Is that why you’ve done none?”
“I’ve done some, just not a lot, and I will dust every few days, but I seriously doubt I’m ever going to get on my hands and knees to scrub the floors.”
He sighed with exaggerated heaviness. “I suppose we could try to have Mrs. Baxter pop in now and then.”
“What?” she cried in mock horror. “My punishment is being rescinded?”
“You weren’t ever being punished. I was just trying to... motivate you.”
“You wanted me out of bed and into the land of the living.” Her shoulders twisted in a delicate shrug. “It worked. Here we are.”
“Here we are,” he agreed, lifting her hand to his lips.
She sucked in a breath as his lips brushed the back of her hand, sending rivulets of pleasure racing through her. He was so big and darkly handsome and he fascinated her far too much. Her feelings for him just kept getting stronger, and she wanted more from him, not less, which completely went against their agreement when they married. Their marriage was a business deal. It was a practical arrangement that would benefit both, and yet lately she was having the most impractical thoughts and feelings. And she was having so many feelings, too.
“Do you regret marrying me, Thomas?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
And then she couldn’t think of anything else to say because her heart was beating fast and her thoughts kept scattering and all she could think was that she didn’t just care for him a little bit. Oh no, when she did anything, she did it all the way, and she was head over heels in love with Thomas, and one day she hoped he would fall in love with her, too.
But then he shocked her by his brusque question. “Do you still miss him? Sinclair Douglas?”
She sat a little taller. “No.”
“Your life would have been quite different if you’d married him.”
“Yes, I would have lived on the Douglas property instead of my property.”
“He was going to run both spreads?”
“I don’t know. We never really discussed it, not in detail.”
“But you were in love with him.”
Her lips compressed. She glanced away, uncomfortable with the questions. What had she felt for Sinclair? It seemed like a lifetime ago. She couldn’t even remember the attraction anymore.
“Papa knew him, and liked him. He was a good rancher. His property adjoins ours and he’s been a good neighbor.”
“I know you had feelings for him. That first night I saw you, out in front of the Graff Hotel, you were trying to stop him from getting into the fire wagon. You were frantic. You didn’t want him to go. It was obvious how much you cared for him.”
Her shoulders twisted. “But he didn’t want me. He didn’t love me. I don’t know what else I can say.”
Ellie sat close to Thomas on the way home, her arm tucked through his. It was strange to think that a week ago she was fighting him like an alley cat, and now all she wanted was to sit close and enjoy the ride home.
He smelled so good, and he made her feel safe and secure, which is remarkable since she hadn’t expected to feel that way again, not after her father died.
“I’m glad Papa approved of you,” she said, breaking the silence as the lavender light of dusk deepened to inky blue. “And I’m glad he was there when we married. It meant everything to me.”
“And him.”
She nodded a little. “I haven’t been to his grave yet.”
Thomas glanced at her. “Are you ready to go?”
A good question, one she had to think about. “Maybe not yet, but soon. At least to take him flowers.” And then her voice broke and she bit down hard into her lower lip to keep from making a sound.
Thomas shifted the reins to one hand and slid an arm around her, bringing her even closer to his hip. “Grief takes time. Just when you think you’re doing better, grief rises and pulls you back under.”
She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Did you go to the cemetery often, when you were in Ireland?”
“No. It was bad enough attending the funeral. I never felt the need to return just for the sake of visiting.”
“If we ever go to Ireland, would you take me there?”
“To Rathkeale, or the cemetery?”
“Both.”
“Not planning on going back, but if I did, I’d take you wherever you wanted to go.”
“Promise?”
He gazed down into her eyes a long moment and he nodded once, a short decisive nod.
“Promise.”
She reached up and cupped the back of his head, shyly drawing his face to hers to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, before kissing him again.
It was the sweetest of kisses, Thomas thought, but not nearly enough, and he lifted her from the bench seat onto his lap.
Her eyes widened with surprise and she put a hand out to brace herself against his chest. “Is this safe?”
“Probably not if you were driving, but you’re not, I am, and Crockett knows his way home.” And then lowering his head, Thomas covered her mouth with his.
He felt her quick inhale, and then she sighed, her lips parting for him, her body shaping to his.
His lips traveled slowly over hers, savoring the lush softness of her mouth. She tasted of the peaches and cream they’d had for dessert, and he wanted to eat her, all of her. He’d been with many women, but only Ellie made him feel like this—fierce and carnal and oh, so protective.
He’d kill for her, and die for her, without even giving it a second thought.
She was his, and he was put on earth to protect her, and all he wanted now was to feel her and hold her and lose himself in her.
She trembled in his arms as he deepened the kiss, his body hardened further. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” he ground out roughly.
“I have an idea,” she whispered.
“I want you like I’ve never wanted any woman, Ellie. And I might not be the husband you wanted—”
“But you are,” she interrupted. “You’re exactly the one I wanted.”
Chapter Ten
He slept with her in her room that evening, although sleeping was probably not the correct term as what they did together wasn’t sleeping, nor could she sleep after.
As she lay awake afterward, she replayed the evening, still rather awed and even a little bit overwhelmed. They’d consummated the marriage and she was no longer a virgin. And physical relations were nothing like she’d expected. After the initial awkwardness, and discomfort, it was really quite nice. More than nice. It was like the pleasure of kissing times one hundred.
Make that a thousand.
Ellie hadn’t thought she would be surprised by his body, having seen pictures and books, not real men of course, but Greek statues and so forth, but Thomas nude was quite different than Michelangelo’s famous David. For one, Thomas was taller, and bigger, everything was bigger from his shoulders to his legs. There were more muscles and a smaller waist and there was the matter of his manhood.
His masculine proportions put poor David to shame.
At first sight, Ellie had been sure that an erect Thomas was far too large for her. There would be no way her body could actually accommodate his, but it seemed that Thomas’s expertise meant she didn’t just accommodate him, but he knew h
ow to make sure she also enjoyed him, and she had.
Now that she understood the mechanics of the act, she looked forward to trying it again because this next time she would be less nervous and more able to focus on the exciting sensations, especially that climax at the end where her body felt like it had become one of those fireworks shot from behind the courthouse on Montana’s day of statehood last November.
The sensation of him in her had been astonishing and, once the first pain went away, she’d been surprised by the lovely warmth of it all, and how much she’d loved being beneath him, and how he’d kissed her as he filled her. That delicious pleasure just grew, too, and she knew somewhere in the back of her brain that he was controlling the whole thing, the tempo, the connection, and just when she was breathless, just when she thought it couldn’t get better, she shattered as though exploding in the sky, before gently falling in glittering lights.
Afterward, she was sticky and sore, and Thomas went downstairs, returning with a cool damp cloth to put between her legs. She felt awkward and shy as he tried to wash her and she pulled the cloth away. “Let me do that!”
He grinned at her embarrassment. “I’m afraid I’ve taken your virtue, Mrs. Sheenan.”
“You did a good job of it, too,” she flashed, shooting him a mischievous look as she lay back down next to him. And then she winced. She was still surprisingly sore.
“It will be sore for a day or so,” he said. “But it shouldn’t ever hurt that much again. The first time is the worst.”
“You specialize in virgins, Mr. Sheenan?”
“No. But I have a conscience. I don’t want to ever hurt anyone, much less a woman.”
“How is it you’ve been with other virgins and you haven’t married them?”
He rolled onto his back, arms behind his head. “I intended to marry one, but her father wouldn’t approve of the marriage.”
“Did you tell her father you’d compromised her?”
“Never. He would have taken it out on her.”
“Where was that?”
“In Rathkeale.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen, or nineteen.”
“Why didn’t her father approve?”