CULLEN'S BRIDE

by Fiona Brand

His mother had never held him as a baby. He'd heard the story from his father often enough—she'd given birth and left without a backward look. Rachel's mother had never had the chance to hold Rachel before she died; then her father and brothers had kept their distance, uncomfortable with the responsibility of bringing up a fragile girl child.

  Cullen wanted to hold his baby. And in that moment he accepted the responsibility for her and all the love and anguish that bringing up a child would entail. No way was he going to use fear of the future as an excuse to walk away from his daughter. He knew he could never harm a child as his father had done.

  Just as Cullen had never harmed a woman.

  That one damaging moment fifteen years ago, when he'd found out just how like his father he could be, was abruptly shoved into perspective. He had broken the cycle of abuse.

  His fear that he'd been on the verge of exploding into violence and hitting Hayward was nothing more than a fear. Maybe he would have hit the lawyer if Rachel hadn't touched his hand, and maybe not. The important thing was that the touch of Rachel's fingers had been all it had taken to stop him. Cullen's father would never have let a woman stop him from doing anything he wanted.

  Gently, he bent and kissed his daughter, breathing in the scents of birth and Rachel, of warmth and love; then he turned gingerly so that Rachel could see, afraid of jolting or jarring the baby in any way. Rachel had turned over with the nurse's help, and her face was radiant, aglow.

  "I love you," she whispered as Cullen settled the tiny scrap against her breast, and Cullen knew he'd been given gifts and richness beyond belief. Rachel's strength and love. His baby girl. His family.

  She cradled their baby, catching Cullen's hands and holding them against the wet, warm skin of the child. Her smile was like the sun coming up.

  "Who's going to cut the cord?" the midwife demanded.

  The doctor and student nurse snickered.

  The midwife attached clips to the cord in two places and, using a sterile napkin, slapped the handle of a pair of surgical scissors into Cullen's big hand. "We've got a rule in this hospital. You know it's kind of like when the little lady does all the hard work to produce a meal, the men get to clean up. Well, this is where men get to be useful in the delivery room."

  Rachel allowed herself to be distracted from her dazed joy that Cullen had finally admitted he loved her and the giddy conviction that when she'd given birth to their daughter, her family had been born, too. She glanced at her husband. For a healthy outdoors type, he was looking decidedly green around the gills.

  He stared at the surgical scissors in his hand, his jaw working. "I guess since you ladies need us at the start of this baby business, we should be there at the finish," he allowed.

  "So true," the doctor drawled sweetly. "We haven't quite figured out how to circumvent that first part yet, but we're working on it."

  * * *

  Cole clapped Cullen on the shoulder. "You have my sympathy, mate."

  Cullen dragged his gaze away from his absorption with his daughter. He was busy watching her, making sure she was all right while Rachel had a shower.

  The nurse had expected Rachel to walk to the ablution block. Cullen had insisted on carrying her. He would have washed her, too, if she hadn't reminded him to get back to the baby. And when he'd looked in on the tightly wrapped little bundle, for a moment he'd been sure his daughter had stopped breathing. He'd been on the verge of panic when one angry, pink fist had shot out of the folds, quickly followed by another. Cullen's knees had gone weak with relief. He couldn't blame her; if he was wrapped up that tight, he would be fighting to get out, too. Muttering beneath his breath, he'd loosened the swaddling clothes, and then his daughter had smiled at him.

  Well, he thought it was a smile. He'd definitely seen her gums—then she'd jammed her fist in her mouth and nearly knocked herself out.

  Cole's words finally penetrated his haze of parental devotion. "Sympathy?" Cullen echoed.

  "Yeah." Cole bent down and touched one fingertip to the baby's tiny fist. She clutched his finger with the surprising strength Cullen had already discovered. "It's some responsibility having one of these little sweethearts around. If she's anything like that wildcat mother of hers, you'll be on guard duty for the rest of your life. Better try to make it a boy next time."

  "There won't he a next time," Cullen growled. He didn't ever want Rachel to go through all that pain again, no matter how wonderful the result was.

  "Yeah, right," Cole said with a grin. "Next time. Welcome to the family. Rachel always said she wanted to have at least four, and to my clear and certain knowledge, she always gets what she wants. One way or the other."

  * * *

  "I hope they never succeed," Cullen said several weeks later.

  Rachel's heart skipped a beat, as it always did when she watched Cullen with their tiny daughter. He'd just changed Kate's nappy and put her down for the night in her bassinet.

  "Never succeed at what?" she asked as she walked into the bedroom they'd redecorated as a nursery.

  Cullen adjusted the lightweight quilt so Kate wouldn't get too hot. The contrast of his big, tanned hand against the delicate apricot cotton brought a lump to Rachel's throat. Partly because the contrast symbolised his strength and gentleness, but mostly because he was wearing his wedding ring. He'd been wearing the plain gold band when he'd come to see her and Kate in hospital the day after Rachel had given birth. Cullen hadn't directly mentioned the ring, simply picked up her left hand with his, laced their fingers together and kissed her. Something akin to an electric shock had travelled through her at the reverence of the caress. She'd felt a powerful sense of déjà vu. If they'd been back in church, repeating their vows, the sense of emotional commitment couldn't have been more intense.

  "At cutting men out of the procreation business," Cullen replied absently. He turned and drew in his breath when he saw what Rachel was wearing. "Where in hell did you get that?" he asked thickly.

  It had been six weeks since the birth, the cyclone, and Hayward's ignominious end in a police cell, and in all that time he hadn't seen Rachel in anything other than loose shirts and bike pants. This lacy creation revealed more than it covered, and just the sight of it turned him to pure steel.

  "I bought it last week. It's for our honeymoon."

  "Honeymoon?" he echoed roughly.

  She brushed past him. It was deliberate. He actually felt her hardened nipple against his arm. There was perfume, too, something softly sweet and sensual that tore up his insides.

  She bent over the bassinet, fussing with the covers and incidentally giving him a great view of the way the lace ran out and turned to transparent gauze just above the delicious flare of her buttocks.

  Now, that was definitely deliberate.

  "Rachel." He gritted his teeth.

  She straightened and turned. Her hip grazed the throbbing ridge that was fast rearranging the front of his jeans. One tiny little shoestring strap slipped off her shoulder, leaving a ridiculously fragile piece of lace clinging to her breast. Rachel's breasts were round and full from breast-feeding, and driving him crazy. He'd never thought about how attractive a woman could be through pregnancy and afterward, but he'd found his hunger for Rachel increasing by leaps and bounds with the new lushness of her body.

  She placed one fingertip on his chest and worked a button loose. "Kate and I had a check-up today. The doctor said that if I feel ready we can … you know…"

  His hands assumed a life of their own, coming up to hold her arms. "We can make love?"

  She smiled.

  Cullen drew in a harsh breath, swung her up into his arms, strode into their bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. He stripped his clothes off with rapid, jerky movements, then came down beside her. And stopped. Rachel was softer, even more deliciously feminine, than she'd been before. The differences enchanted him, but he'd deliberately kept from touching her, exploring the changes to her body, because he just couldn't trust himself that close to her
. And Rachel would have invited him into her body whether she was ready or not. "Are you sure?" he asked in a voice that was little more than a whispery rumble.

  Her hands found him, and his heart almost stopped. "I was sure months ago."

  "I can't wait," he rasped.

  "I don't want you to. Cullen," she breathed, gripping his shoulders as he pushed the filmy nightgown up to her waist and mounted her with exquisite care. "I need you. Love me. Really love me."

  He moved into her with a smooth, careful stroke, and the relief of feeling her moist internal clasp shuddered through him. Unconsciously he'd been waiting for this, the chance to claim her physically as his own. He was acutely aware of the need to seal the bond of their love in the most primal way there was, to start the process of overlaying the grim events of the recent past with memories that were sweeter, hotter, and burned more brightly, than the darkness and despair they'd both faced.

  The past few weeks had been a time of intense adjustment, but the shattering intimacy of sharing a bed, a bathroom and a baby had been the most deeply satisfying experience of Cullen's life. He'd brought the same focus and determination to the process of cementing their relationship that he'd brought to avoiding it in the first place. He wanted to wrap Rachel in satin and silk, cuddle and cosset her, chase the last sombre remnant of uncertainty from her eyes. If he had to spend the rest of his life reassuring her that he would never leave, then he would, willingly. "I need you," he said deeply. "I love you. Always."

  Cupping her face, he moved his hips that final last increment, burying himself hilt-deep inside her. The tender, exquisite heat of her body welcomed him, and her eyes glowed with a soft radiance that sank into his very soul. In that moment he gained the certainty he needed. She was his, just as he belonged to her.

  Rachel's fingers bit delicately into his shoulders, then twined in his hair, tugging. With a shattered groan he gave in to her unspoken demand and joined his mouth to hers. Warmth and sweetness exploded through him, healing old wounds and even older fears. He wasn't alone; he would never be alone again. And neither would Rachel. It didn't matter what difficulties they faced, where they lived.

  As long as they had each other, they were home.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  « ^

  The next morning, as they were eating a late breakfast, a car drove up. Rachel would have recognised Mrs. Reese's ancient Rover anywhere.

  "Want me to get the door?" Cullen asked, coming up behind her and nuzzling her hair aside to kiss her nape.

  Rachel raised one brow at Cullen's Sunday-morning-sleepy eyes and unshaven jaw, his naked chest and tight, faded jeans. The baby, naked except for her bulky diaper, was plastered sound asleep over one brawny shoulder. "You're hardly dressed for visitors."

  His mouth curled in a slow, sinful smile. "As soon as I get this little sweetheart in her bassinet, I wasn't planning on being dressed at all."

  A crisp knock sounded. Cullen's smile turned into a lazy grin as he ambled past Rachel on his way to get the door.

  * * *

  When the door swung open, the last thing Isobel Reese expected to see was Cullen Logan, more man than was decent and looking like the devil incarnate with that sweet, innocent angel of a baby propped over one of those oversize shoulders of his. Isobel jerked her chin up a notch. Not that it was likely to make any kind of difference. From where she was standing, the man was as big as a mountain. "I hear you're giving up the army and you're going to stay in Riverbend and try your hand at farming?"

  His eyes narrowed at her question. "That's right."

  Isobel sniffed. "Well, it's about time. We came to see the baby," she announced, noticing the wicked glint in Cullen's eye and trying not to let her old eyes dwell overlong on all that prime muscle on display. Despite the flask of a wedding band on his finger, he still looked more wild than tamed. Lord, but that little Sinclair girl had netted herself a live one here. "Eleanor," she commanded, elbowing her daughter in the ribs.

  No response.

  She expelled an irritable breath and turned to see Eleanor staring at Cullen Logan with her eyes wide and her chin near dragging on the ground. With a sigh, she detached the parcel from Eleanor's limp hand and shoved it at Cullen's washboard flat stomach. "For the baby."

  His eyebrows shot up in a way that made her feel faintly ashamed she hadn't called a sooner, but she ruthlessly pushed that emotion aside. She was here now, wasn't she?

  He was silent for a beat, then asked, "Would you like to hold her?"

  Isobel's eyes flew wide, but she shook her head with regret. "She's sleeping. I wouldn't want to disturb her."

  "I was just going to put Katie in her bassinet. Would you like to come in and visit a while?"

  A blush warmed her cheeks at his smile, the velvety rasp of his voice. And those strange, light eyes. Good lord, but the man was too sexy for words. Reminded Isobel of her Harold. Her throat tightened as it always did when she thought of her husband. It hardly seemed like twenty years since he'd died. Now there was a man who knew how to make a woman feel like a woman! "Maybe another time, when that little girl's likely to be awake," she said gruffly. "We'll be late for church if we stop any longer."

  Cullen smiled again, white teeth flashing wickedly against his tanned, stubbled jaw. "Thank you for the gift. And don't forget to stop by. Rachel enjoys company."

  On the way to the car, Isobel fanned herself. "Whew, it certainly is boiling today, isn't it?"

  Eleanor settled into her seat with a dreamy look on her face. "That man is downright beautiful."

  Isobel set the car in gear, the tyres spitting gravel as her gammy leg pressed just a bit too hard on the gas pedal. The burst of speed certainly had nothing to do with her irritation at her daughter for living in such a dream world and not supplying her with a whole bunch of sweet babies like the one draped across Cullen Logan's shoulder. "You had your chance at him, girl," she muttered, peering at Cullen's battered cattlestop and aiming for the centre, "and you messed it up big time. You can't expect to catch one of those wild ones if all you ever do is look with your mouth open!"

  * * *

  Cullen snagged Rachel's hand as he walked down the hallway.

  "Bed," he said as he towed her upstairs to their room.

  Instead of putting his little darling in her bassinet, he simply lay down on the sunny, tangled bed and let her sleep on his chest. She seemed to like that best of all and usually slept twice as long, which, since she was such a lively little critter at night, meant that he and Rachel could catch up on some sleep of their own.

  "Cullen?"

  He tore his wondering gaze from the tiny, snuffling scrap of baby splayed all over him, her diapered rump stuck up in the air. Rachel settled in next to him, snuggling into the curve of his arm. Right where she belonged. "Hmm?" he rumbled lazily, running his fingers up Rachel's arm, then letting them sift through her gorgeous, silky hair.

  She smiled, putting the sunlight in the shade. "Did you see what the Reeses brought?" She unraveled a large T-shirt and held it up. Another tiny matching T-shirt fell out.

  "The old devil," Cullen said, chuckling.

  The T-shirts both read, Made in Riverbend and Proud of It.

  * * * * *