Gerrity'S Bride

by Carolyn Davidson

  Hell, she’s under my skin, that’s all there is to it, he decided with a scowl that would have frightened anyone who knew him well. She came flittin’ around, smart and sassy and ready to argue about everything and anything. What’s more, she sure as hell hasn’t acted like she’s head over heels about me, he thought, glaring down at her darkly.

  Anyway, I wouldn’t know what love felt like if it was starin’ me square in the face. In fact, if I told her I loved her, she’d probably just... Damn it all, it’s hard to say what she’d do.

  Love. How the hell do I know what love is supposed to feel like? Just because I like havin’ her in my bed, that doesn’t mean anything. But it did, and his mouth twisted in an unwilling smile as he admitted the fact to himself.

  He tightened his hold on her, caught up in the flood of tender emotion that enveloped him. Well, one thing was for sure, he vowed—she was his and he’d be switched if he let her get out of his sight again.

  He watched her for a moment, savoring the feel of her, the softness of her bottom beneath his hand as he lifted her higher against his chest. Damn, she never looks at me the way she does Tessie, he thought glumly. She’s about as prickly as a cactus with me. And damned if she don’t like to fuss at me.

  Except in the dark hours of the night. His grin was cocky as he thought for a moment of laying Emmaline down beneath the trees by the stream.

  And, as if she sensed his thoughts, she stirred against him, grumbling beneath her breath.

  “Matt...you’re squeezing me!” she said plaintively, her eyes flickering open, accusing him even as he laughed aloud at the petulant look she wore.

  “Sorry, honey.” He was thankful she could not read the randy thoughts that had prompted him to hold her so tightly. “We’re almost there, Em,” he promised her. “You’ll be in your own bed in just a little while.”

  “I want to see Tessie,” she murmured, her eyes closing once more.

  “Soon, Em. Soon.”

  * * *

  The confrontation with Olivia had been brief, her stunned surprise at seeing Emmaline proof enough to condemn her in Matt’s eyes. She’d been conniving for weeks, perhaps longer, he realized. Her placid demeanor had vanished when Hailey Baines took her firmly by the arm and told her she was under arrest. Complicity was the accusation he’d leveled in her direction, and she’d hotly denied it.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong!” she’d snarled, and then condemned herself with her arrogance. “You have no proof, anyway,” she’d said with haughty smugness, her eyes on the body of Kane Burton as he lay across the saddle of his cow pony.

  “Proof? Not in writing, maybe,” Hailey had drawled. “But the word of this little girl will go a long way in court. You lied to her and sent her out on a horse alone, telling her that her sister would come to fetch her.”

  “A child’s word against mine?” Olivia sputtered.

  “She shot my mare out from under me,” Emmaline said softly from her seat on the porch, where Matt had deposited her at her own insistence. She’d looked at Olivia with sad eyes, aware that no one had mentioned Fancy in her hearing, and only too conscious of the significance of that lack.

  “I was aiming at that ranch hand,” Olivia had blurted.

  “You told him to kill me,” Emmaline had reminded her. “And then you said you’d do it yourself.”

  “You’re an upstart.” Olivia had flung the words at her. “Matt would’ve married me sooner or later, if you’d gone back where you came from. I know that’s what his mother intended to happen when she brought me here, and he was becoming interested in me. You never belonged here, anyway,” she’d snarled.

  Olivia had cursed her then, using vile words that drove the color from Emmaline’s face and caused Matt to pick her up and carry her into the house. Behind them, the small group had dispersed. The sheriff, his deputy and their prisoner had headed for town, Olivia on the seat of the buckboard, Kane’s body secured on the wagon bed. Claude had volunteered to drive her, his eyes alight with satisfaction as he glared his finest in her direction.

  Now the quiet of the house surrounded them. Tessie had been tended to, had viewed Emmie’s bruises with tender eyes and kissed them with damp smacks guaranteed to make them better in jig time, she’d said.

  The room was dim, the windows draped to keep out the bright light of day, and Emmaline was a small bundle beneath the sheet he’d thrown over her. He’d been careful taking off her clothes, pulling off the leather skirt that had probably saved her from more scrapes, if its condition was anything to go by.

  He’d felt his frustration rise to a peak when he washed her. The rope burns on her wrists were proof of her struggle to rid herself of her shackles as the fire burned inside the cabin. Her poor hands had borne the brunt of her fall, showing numerous deep scratches. He washed her face, hearing her sigh of pleasure when the cool cloth bathed her throat and her breasts, removing the scent of the fire and the dust of the trail.

  She had rolled to her side, unaware that her only covering was the muslin sheet, too weary to dispute his instructions.

  “Were you really getting interested in Olivia, Matt? Before I got here, I mean?”

  The snort of denial was spontaneous, and Emmaline smiled as Matt sputtered a reply. “She’s got a mighty big imagination, is all I can figure out.”

  “I knew she had eyes for you,” Emmaline whispered.

  Matt shook his head. “I want you to sleep, Em. Just close your eyes and try to rest, you hear?”

  A sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips as he lay beside her and enclosed her in his embrace. His fingers tangled in a cluster of curls, crushing the vibrant locks within his palm. His other hand had followed the curves of her slender form, roaming at will down her side, as if he sought reassurance that she was whole, safe and secure—here in his bed, where she belonged.

  * * *

  The weight of his arm was heavy across her ribs, his hand, cradling her breast, was warm and familiar, and Emmaline’s first thought was one of thanksgiving. Not for a moment had she doubted that Matt would rescue her. Even when the fire sent smoke billowing and flames were creeping across the ceiling, she had not doubted his ability to free her from the cabin.

  She sighed, relishing the warmth of his body behind her, his chest against her back, and his arms containing her, sheltering her. Suddenly she needed to see him, needed to face him. She turned within his embrace, shifting until she was tucked beneath his shoulder. Then she tilted her head, the better to look into his face.

  His eyes were open, scanning her features, as if he wanted to reassure himself about her well-being.

  “Hi, Em,” he whispered, his voice raspy with the remnants of sleep.

  “Hi.” She stretched and yawned, one hand rising to cover her mouth. Then she relaxed once more against his shoulder, aware suddenly that there was only a thin layer of muslin between her flesh and his gray cotton shirt.

  “I don’t have anything on,” she said accusingly.

  He grinned. “I know. I’m the one who put you to bed, remember?”

  He backed away from her, allowing her head to fall to the pillow, and heard with amusement the small cry of protest she uttered. Standing, he stripped off the denims he wore, sliding his smallclothes with them, then deliberately removed his shirt. Switching the sheet to one side, he crawled in next to her and lifted himself on one elbow to consider the injuries she’d sustained.

  “I’m fine,” she protested as she watched the frown gather on his brow, knowing what he sought as his eyes traveled over her face.

  He raised the sheet, stifling her protest with one long finger across her lips, and looked his fill, aware of the pinking of her cheeks as she tolerated his perusal. There were bruises on her breasts, along one hip and down the length of her thigh. Probably where she’d fallen from Fancy, he decided. He’d wiped her hands clean, and the scratches were already beginning to heal, scabbing over and looking not nearly so vicious now.

  He lifted each hand separ
ately, his mouth paying homage to her fingers and the palms in turn, his kisses warm and damp against her flesh.

  “I love your hands, Emmaline,” he said as he trained his eyes on the slender fingers. That had slipped out pretty well, he thought.

  “You do?” She sounded amazed, and he grinned at her reaction. “Why ever would you love my hands?”

  “They’re part of you, for one thing,” he drawled. “I love your hair, too,” he told her, releasing her hands to run his fingers into the wealth of copper-toned curls that spread out upon her pillow.

  “Matt? The last time you said anything about my hair, you only liked it.” His fingers tugged a bit at her teasing, and she squeaked a protest and tried to sit up. But he would have none of it. His weight shifted to hold her where he wanted her. Subsiding with barely a murmur, she pressed her lips together and waited.

  “I love all the parts of you, Emmaline Gerrity,” he said finally, his eyes having finally come to rest on her face, wary and hesitant as he gauged her reaction.

  She swallowed, and her tongue made a journey from one side of her mouth to the other, tracing its way across her top lip and then back along the plush line of the bottom one.

  “All the parts?” she asked breathlessly.

  He nodded solemnly. “All of them.” His eyes slid down her body, pausing as they tenderly bathed her breasts with approval, and then continuing until he noted the curling of her toes and the tensing of the muscles of her belly.

  “You love me, Gerrity?” she asked, with a delicate emphasis on each word.

  He nodded and waited for her reaction.

  It was beautiful beyond belief. Her expression was almost like that which she had bestowed on Tessie at times, and yet it was different. She was blossoming before him like the cactus on the desert to the south. Damned if she wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on, with that soft mouth and those blue eyes filled with wonderment.

  “Oh, Matt!” She looked at him helplessly, blinking until a single tear overflowed from each eye, to vanish into the hair at her temples.

  “Oh, Matt!” she repeated in a soft whisper, as if they were the only words she could speak.

  “Emmaline?” He was prompting her, willing her to give him the words her eyes were speaking silently.

  She reached for him and buried her face in his throat, her mouth open against his skin. In a whisper that brought a shiver of delight to his soul, she answered his plea.

  “I’ve loved you for such a long while.” It was a breath of surrender, a giving of herself, and he cherished the moment, holding her close, relishing the softness of her curving length against his hard body.

  “Since when, Em?” he asked against her ear, his breath warm, his mouth damp, his lips moving against the convoluted curl of her flesh.

  “I don’t want to tell you,” she said primly. “You’ll gloat.”

  “No...” he told her with a chuckle. “Just tell me.”

  “Since before the night in the hotel...since that afternoon.”

  “That afternoon?” He was puzzled. “Before we got married?”

  She nodded her head. “Well, after the first time...but before the second time. When you sent for a bath for me and had someone bring in my wedding clothes.”

  “That made you love me?” he asked incredulously.

  She peeked a look at him, her cheeks rosy, her mouth pursed, her eyes gleaming with joy. “You knew what I needed, Matt. You were willing to stand before the preacher and do the whole thing up right, and I knew then that I was glad we were getting married.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” he growled, intent on touching her tender flesh, his hand brushing against her arm and across her shoulder.

  “I was afraid, you know,” she confided softly.

  “Of me? I wouldn’t hurt you, Em,” he told her quietly.

  “No...just of everything. You know, the loving...the part when you...” She groaned and turned her face from him. “You know what I mean!”

  “Doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?” he asked in a silky whisper.

  “No.”

  “Got a headache, Em?” His whisper had deepened into a husky growl.

  She shook her head. It was a small, infinitesimal movement.

  “How bad do you hurt, honey?” The words were barely audible as he buried his face against her throat.

  “Only down my side, a little,” she allowed.

  “Hmm...not here?” he asked, his hand cupping the soft weight of her breast.

  “A little, near my ribs, I think.”

  “Hmm...” He scooted down till his mouth settled with feathered kisses on the bruise that marred her flesh. “I know you didn’t have Tessie kiss this one,” he told her.

  “Matt!” She cuffed at his ear with a restrained touch, her voice reproving.

  His eyes narrowed as he lifted to look more closely at the bruise, and his mouth tightened as he thought of what she had suffered at the hands of Kane Burton and Olivia Champion.

  “Are you sure I won’t hurt you, Em?” he asked soberly as he struggled against the urge that drove him to possess her.

  “I need you, Matt,” she whispered. “I need you to touch all the places that hurt, and drive away all the bad memories.”

  He framed her face with his palms, holding himself back from crushing her into the bedding. The words came more easily this time, and he spoke them with tenderness. “I love you, Emmie. I’ll always love you,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you and Tessie for the rest of my life.”

  She sucked in her breath with a sob, and he stiffened. “Don’t you cry now, Emmaline. You hear me? Or I’ll never tell you that again,” he vowed.

  “I cry sometimes when I’m happy,” she admitted, blinking back the tears that threatened to slip from her eyes.

  “Are you happy?”

  She nodded. “I love you, Matt.” She slipped her arms about his neck and drew his face to hers, nibbling at his lips and stretching against his hard body.

  It was an invitation he couldn’t resist, and he responded as she’d known he would. With the power of his passion restrained, lest he crush her beneath him and take her before she was ready to accept him, he moved against her. With his strength harnessed into gentleness, he caressed her, moving with careful precision, caging the desire that would have had him surging against her tender body, his hands and mouth worshiping the fragile flesh he had bared to his inspection.

  She twisted, her body reaching for him, her hands grasping to tug him closer; but he quieted her, whispering and coaxing until she could no longer contain the plea of her heart.

  “Matt...please. I need you to...” Her movements were agile as she readied herself beneath him, her fingers searching between their bodies to lay hold upon the hard, thrusting length of him. And then she sighed, sobbing her relief as she brought him to herself, surging upward as she captured him within her flesh.

  “Emmie,” he murmured, “I love you,” and realized anew that it was true.

  * * *

  Tessie was full of questions, and her eyes were big as she looked from Matt to Emmaline at the dinner table. “Won’t Miss Olivia be coming back anymore?” she asked. “Did you send her away ‘cause she lied to me, Matt?”

  He shook his head, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes people do bad things, short stuff,” he told her soberly. “Miss Olivia lied to everyone. She caused a lot of bad things to happen, and she has to be punished for it.”

  “I’d sure never do bad stuff, Matt,” the child assured him as she tucked into the meal on her plate.

  “I know you wouldn’t, honey,” he told her, flashing a smile at Emmaline.

  “Who’s gonna teach me now?” Tessie asked. “Maybe I’m old enough to go to real school, don’t you think?”

  “Not yet,” Matt said firmly. “In another year or two, maybe.”

  Emmaline laid her fork down and rested her arm on the table in front of her. “Maybe I could be Tessie’s teacher for a while,”
she suggested quietly. “I think I could keep up with her, at least for a couple of years.”

  Matt grinned his approval, and she relished the warmth of his smile. “I can use the same books, and add a few of my own,” she suggested. “I think she was pushing Tessie a little, anyway. Maybe we can lay off the lessons for the rest of the summer, and take them up again in September.”

  “How does that sound to you, short stuff?” Matt asked the child.

  “But I can go to real school next year?” she wanted to know.

  “We’ll see,” Emmaline said, making no promises.

  “We’ve got another project to work on, you know, Em,” Matt reminded her with a wolfish gleam in his eye. “You may be up to your neck in—”

  “Matt!” she admonished him, her cheeks flaming.

  “Suppose we might have already taken care of it?” he asked innocently.

  She gave an exasperated groan. “Will you behave yourself?” Her eyes flew to where Tessie sat, her fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes flashing with interest in the guarded conversation.

  “Well,” he conceded, “I guess we could talk about it later. I’m feelin’ pretty perky this evening, anyway, what with sleepin’ half the day away.” His eyes sparkled as he set to with vigor, eating the dinner Maria had prepared as a celebration for them.

  Emmaline poked at her food, aware of places on her body that would be tender for days to come, conscious of the weariness that still held her in its sway. And more aware than ever of the man who sat at the end of the table, his knee almost touching her own beneath the concealing folds of the white tablecloth.

  He loves me, she thought with a sense of wonder. He said so, she remembered with a flush of pleasure as she recalled his impassioned words.

  “Emmaline?” His voice nudged her into awareness, and she looked up to find him leaning toward her, his gaze intent on her face.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You looked like you were...” He shook his head, descriptive words escaping him.

  “I’m fine, Matt. I’ve never been better, in fact. A little tired, a little sore, and a whole lot happy.”