Jilly found then that her reminiscing of Boone’s appearance in the evenings before bed drew her thoughts to wondering, as she often did throughout the day, if an occasion would ever arise where she might be kissed by him again. In truth, the kiss he’d kissed her with at their wedding ceremony had been incredible! Though it had taken her several days to admit it to herself, Jilly had quickly found that the moment of the kiss was the clearest in her mind of the entire day they were married. She’d thought it was astonishment at first—the mingled weakness and elation that had come over her when Boone had kissed her. But she knew it was far more—even then—and she wanted Boone to kiss her again.
Still, what were the chances he ever would? Slim to none, she figured. He hadn’t even taken advantage of his “husbandly rights” (as she’d once heard it called) on their wedding night. So why ever would he want to kiss her again?
Jilly’s heart leapt with delight as she heard the rhythm of horse hooves and turned to see Boone riding up to the barn. She watched as he quickly dismounted and hurried into the barn, returning with a large coil of rope. He was frowning, and Jilly’s initial delight at seeing him turned to anxiety. Setting the basket on the porch, she hurried across the grassy space between the house and barn.
“Is somethin’ wrong?” she asked—though she already sensed something was.
Boone nodded. “Yep. The little Graham girl fell into an old well out on the Graham place. Graham doesn’t have a long enough length of rope to send someone in after her, and our place is closest.”
Jilly frowned. “You’re plannin’ on climbin’ down after her, aren’t you?”
Boone shrugged as he attached the coil of rope to his saddle. “Someone has to go in after her. She’ll drown here pretty quick if I don’t.”
“Why can’t her daddy go in after her…or her brother?” Jilly asked as a strange, unfamiliar sort of anger began to grow inside her.
Boone puffed a breath of disgust. “Her daddy? Wallace Graham is too…too big around to fit down the well. And I wouldn’t send Davey in after her and risk havin’ two children trapped.”
“But…but what if you’re hurt or—” Jilly began.
“I’ll be fine,” Boone interrupted. He mounted his horse and smiled down at her. “And I’ll be back in time for lunch.”
Then he rode off at a gallop in the direction from whence he’d come.
Jilly frowned. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for the little Graham girl’s well-being—she did! It was just that, in that moment, she was worried for Boone’s. Why did it always have to be Boone Ramsey that saved everybody’s life?
Jilly knew that her frustration wouldn’t be eased—not as long as Boone was gone. Marching to the barn, she saddled Romeo and rode off on her own undertaking then—a visit with her grandpa and grandma in an attempt to settle her suddenly very rattled nerves.
*
“It’s who he is, Jilly honey,” Doolin Adams said. “It’s always been Boone Ramsey folks go runnin’ to when they’re in trouble, and it ain’t likely to change.”
“But what if Boone ends up gettin’ hurt down in that well?” Jilly asked. “What if one day, while he’s savin’ somebody else, he gets injured…or worse?”
“Then that’s somethin’ we’ll all have to handle if and when it happens,” Doolin answered.
“But you can’t sit around always expectin’ the worst, honey,” Effie added. “The good Lord watches over men like Boone Ramsey. They put themselves in danger helpin’ others…so the Lord takes extra good care of them. You have to have faith in that.”
“I know,” Jilly mumbled.
She sighed, attempting to have the faith to know that Boone would be cared for by a greater power while he was helping the Grahams’ little girl. She closed her eyes a moment—listened to the rhythm of her grandma’s rocker—breathed deeply the soothing scent of her grandpa’s pipe smoke. Yet it was strange to her—the sense that, even though everything around her was familiar and most beloved, she didn’t feel like she was home. She kept thinking of the house she and Boone shared, of what she was going to cook for supper, and how handsome Boone would look sitting across the table from her as they shared their evening meal.
“Well, I probably shouldn’t linger,” Jilly said, opening her eyes. “I need to run into the general store and buy a bit more sugar and then make sure somethin’s ready for lunch when Boone gets back.”
She heard her grandpa chuckle and looked up to see Doolin and Effie Adams exchange knowing glances.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothin’,” Doolin answered. “We’re just glad to see you’re settlin’ in so quick.”
Jilly couldn’t help but smile and say, “Oh, you two think you’re so clever…marryin’ me off to Boone Ramsey the way you did. You’re so sure I’m gonna be eatin’ crow and thankin’ you for doin’ it one day.”
“Yep,” Doolin chuckled.
Her grandma smiled and winked at her, and Jilly giggled as she stood and placed an affectionate kiss on each of their foreheads.
“Don’t go gettin’ too full of yourselves now,” she said. “You’re only at the beginnin’ of this book, you know.”
“We know,” Effie said. “Now you run on and get what you need from the general store before your husband gets home with his stomach growlin’ like an old grizzly.”
“I will,” Jilly said. “I love you both. Bye-bye.”
“Bye, honey,” Effie called as Jilly left the parlor and headed for the front door.
“Bring me some of those brown sugar cookies you make next time you’re by,” Doolin added.
“All right, Grandpa. I will,” Jilly called in return. She smiled and shook her head with amusement. Her grandpa was a slave to anything sweet. She’d be sure to bring him something sweet very soon.
Taking hold of Romeo’s reins, Jilly decided to lead him to the general store instead of riding. After all, it wasn’t a long distance, and she felt like walking.
“Hey there, Miss Jilly,” Arthur Farley greeted with a smile as he passed her in the street. “Sure is a pretty day, ain’t it?”
“It sure is,” Jilly agreed. And then—then a mischief she’d only felt once before in all her life began to bubble up inside her, and she added, “It’s so warm and dry. Kind of puts a body in mind of maybe takin’ a swim down in Mourning Dove Pond, doesn’t it?”
As Arthur’s smile faded—his face draining of all color—Jilly donned her most innocent-looking expression and said, “You have a nice day now, Arthur, all right?”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” Arthur stammered, still staring wide-eyed and pale-faced at Jilly.
Jilly held in her giggles until she was well beyond Arthur’s range of hearing and then allowed herself just one triumphant snicker. She knew darn well that for the rest of his life Arthur Farley would wonder if it were an accident that Jilly Ramsey had mentioned swimming in the pond only a few days after he and his friends had been caught by some unknown trickster or if Jilly herself had been the very one to pull the prank.
As she approached the general store and tied Romeo’s reins to the hitching post nearby, Jilly wondered what Boone would think of her teasing Arthur Farley. Would he join in finding amusement in the boy’s discomfort or scold her for nearly giving away their prank? But Jilly smiled, certain that Boone would find humor in the incident.
“Well, well, well…if it ain’t Mrs. Boone Ramsey herself.”
Jilly’s amused delight was instantly squelched at the sound of Jack Taylor’s voice behind her.
Turning on her heels, however, she forced a friendly smile and greeted, “Why, yes, it is, Jack Taylor. And good mornin’ to you.”
Jilly recognized the expression on Jack’s face—gloating—and the fact that she knew him well enough to determine what he was feeling made her stomach churn with self-disgust.
“And how’s that new husband of yours, Mrs. Ramsey?” Jack asked, his voice so heavy with sarcasm Jilly wanted to slap him again.
&n
bsp; “He’s just wonderful, Jack, thank you,” Jilly answered. She found it strange at first—that a mere two weeks before she would’ve thought the sun and moon rose and set by Jack Taylor, and now all she saw was a pompous, brainless tomcat standing before her. There wasn’t one tinge of feeling in her heart toward him—other than regret.
“Well, if he’s so wonderful…then why are you here in town all alone?” Jack baited.
Jilly shrugged as if there were nothing strange about a woman coming to town without her husband’s escort—because in truth, there wasn’t—not in Mourning Dove Creek anyway.
“Oh, Boone’s out helpin’ the Graham family with somethin’,” she answered. “Seems their little girl—”
“Come on, Jilly,” Jack interrupted, taking hold of her arm. “Let’s have us a little talk, hmmm? Over here where no one can see…because I’ve got some things to say to you.”
“Well, I don’t have anything to say to you, Jack Taylor,” Jilly said, wrenching her arm from his grasp.
“Oh, come on, Jilly,” Jack chuckled, however. “Wasn’t more than ten days ago you were beggin’ me to marry you—sweeter on me than a baby to candy—and now you’re gonna stand here and make out like you ain’t still?”
“I’m not,” Jilly answered. She shook he head, and through narrowed eyes that displayed pure contempt, she continued, “I don’t know what I was thinkin’ by spendin’ my time on you, Jack. There’s nothin’ at all to you…nothin’ but thinkin’ to yourself that you’re somethin’ special. But you’re not. You’re a coward, a snake. I’m just glad Boone rescued me from you before—”
But her words were cut off when Jack suddenly took hold of both her arms and growled, “Don’t you talk to me that way! I ain’t no coward. I’m just not stupid.” He glared at her. “What makes you think I would ever take to just one girl when I can have as many girls as I set my mind to havin’? And anyway, your grandpa forced you to marry Boone Ramsey. I know it. It wasn’t your choice.”
“Yes, it was,” Jilly said. It was the truth, after all. Maybe she’d married Boone out of spite—or, more truthfully, convinced herself that was the reason, at least at first—but she had chosen to marry him.
“I married him because he’s the best man I’ve ever known,” she said as Jack’s grip on her arms tightened. “You’ll never be half the man Boone is, Jack. You don’t have it in you.”
“What the hell are you doin’?” Boone roared as he stepped out of the general store carrying a sack of flour. Slamming the sack to the boardwalk, Boone strode so quickly to where Jilly stood that Jack Taylor didn’t know what hit him. But Jilly did—Boone’s powerful fist.
“You take your hands off my wife, boy!” Boone shouted, reaching down and taking hold of the front of Jack’s shirt, pulling him to his feet once more. “Don’t you ever touch her!” Boone shouted into Jack’s face. Jilly gasped as Boone landed another brutal blow to Jack’s jaw—only this time Jack didn’t stumble to the ground, because Boone still held the front of his shirt in one hand to keep him on his feet.
“Don’t you ever speak to her again without my permission, you hear me, boy?” Boone growled. This time when Boone’s fist met with Jack’s jaw, Boone let go of Jack’s shirt and raised one foot, planting his boot square in Jack’s midsection and shoving him backward. Jack stumbled back, bloody-nosed and disoriented, tumbling down into the dirt.
Leveling a trembling index finger at Jack—who lay writhing breathless, bleeding, and in pain on the ground—Boone added, “You’re just lucky I didn’t lose my temper, you jackass.”
Instantly Boone turned to Jilly, his brow puckered with concern. “Did he hurt you, Jill?” he asked.
Jilly shook her head. She couldn’t have admitted to any of the onlookers at the moment, but the pink heat she felt on her cheeks wasn’t embarrassment at Boone’s display or anger with Jack but rather pride that her husband, the handsomest man ever born, had just put Jack Taylor right smack where he belonged—on his hiney there in the dirt.
Chapter Nine
“Thank you, Boone,” Jilly said as she sat across from Boone at the supper table that evening. All day—ever since Boone had knocked the wadding out of Jack Taylor in front of the general store—Jilly had been overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude and humility.
Though she was sure it hadn’t been Boone’s intention, not only had he rescued her from Jack’s tormenting, but he’d also rescued her reputation as well. She was certain that by the end of the day there wouldn’t be a person left in Mourning Dove Creek that would believe Boone Ramsey and Jilly hadn’t married for love.
“For what?” Boone asked, spreading a piece of bread with butter.
“For knockin’ the waddin’ out of Jack Taylor for me,” she explained. “I’ve wanted to do that for…well, since…since…”
“Since he wouldn’t marry you and left you to me?” he asked, grinning.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Boone chuckled. “Well, you’re welcome. But I have to admit, the pleasure was all mine. It felt good to give that jackass what he’s had comin’.”
“I’m just really thankful you were there,” Jilly added.
“Well, we hauled the little Graham girl out of the well pretty quick, and then I remembered the flour can is runnin’ low, so I stopped into town to pick some up,” he explained.
“And is she all right?” Jilly asked. “The little Graham girl, I mean?”
Boone nodded, taking a bite of his bread. “The water wasn’t too deep down in that old well…just a foot or so. But she was wet and cold and scared when I got down there to her. Poor little thing. She didn’t break an arm or a leg or anything though. She was lucky.”
“Well, I’m glad she wasn’t hurt,” Jilly said. Blushing a little, she added, “And I’m glad you weren’t either.”
“Oh, I never get hurt,” Boone commented. But when Jilly arched one eyebrow with skepticism, he added, “Well, not too often anyhow.” He put his bread down on his plate then, dusted the crumbs from his hands, and said, “Hey, that reminds me…”
Jilly watched as he stood, slipped his suspenders from his shoulders, and stripped off his shirt. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him stride to the cupboard. She just adored him in his shirtless state.
“Will you clip off these stitches Doc Havasham put in real quick?” he asked, returning to the table and handing her a pair of small scissors. “They’re itchin’ me something awful, and I think everything is scabbed together good enough.”
Jilly’s eyes widened as she accepted the scissors. “You want me to cut the stitches?”
“Yeah…if you don’t mind,” he answered. “You just clip ’em in the middle, and then you can pick them out with your fingernails. All right?”
“But won’t that hurt?” she asked, horrified at the thought of causing Boone any pain at all.
Boone shrugged. “Naw,” he answered. “But their itchin’ is drivin’ me loco.” Taking hold of his chair, he pulled it away from the table, sitting down backward on it as he straddled the back of it with his long legs. Folding his arms and resting them on the back of the chair, he said, “Okay. Just snip them, and they’ll pull right out.”
Jilly gulped, stood, and strode to where Boone was sitting. The wound from the ax was healing well, though it would obviously scar. Still, she could see that the stitches were no longer necessary and might actually prove a hindrance to Boone’s healing now.
“So just snip them down the middle?” she asked in a whisper as she placed her left hand on his back and readied her right hand that held the scissors.
Boone startled a little and chuckled, “That tickles a bit…sorry.”
In truth, Jilly’s touch didn’t tickle at all; rather, it caused a tremor of ecstasy to travel through him—a sensation he hadn’t expected. Instantly Boone wondered whether asking Jilly to remove Doc Havasham’s stitches had been a wise choice. Just her touch had sent his thoughts racing to the fact that she was his wife. And wasn�
�t it his right to hold her, kiss her, and take her to his bed?
Just the thought of kissing her again caused his mouth to begin to water with desire. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to think of anything but the kiss they’d shared the day Reverend Dryer had pronounced them man and wife—but he couldn’t. Sure, Boone had kissed other women—done his share of sparking in the past. But that one kiss he’d stolen from Jilly Adams the day they’d been married, it had surpassed any kiss he’d ever experienced before. Fact was, he’d spent a lot of time thinking on it—and even more time keeping himself from kissing her again. Boone didn’t want to kiss Jilly again unless she wanted him to. And even though he knew that day might never come, he was determined never to take anything from her unless she gave it to him—anything.
Still, as Jilly’s small, soft hands worked to remove the stitches from the wound at his back, Boone knew that if he didn’t escape soon, his resolve might be entirely vanquished. He wondered whether she realized that her touch felt like an alluring caress. He figured she did not—else she wouldn’t be touching him that way.
“You almost done?” he asked, needing to have her move away from him—to quit touching him.
“Almost,” Jilly mumbled. “Just this…last little…there!” she exclaimed at last. “Finished. You’re stitchless once more, Mr. Ramsey.”
Jilly frowned, confused as Boone nearly leapt up from the chair, mumbled, “Thanks,” and then snatched his shirt from the table where he’d tossed it and began putting it on again.
“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked with concern.
A Bargained-For Bride Page 9