The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride

by Debra Cowan

  The flames writhed toward the roof, giving off heat like an inferno. Gideon and Ivy concentrated their efforts on that section. She half jogged, half walked back to him with another full bucket, trying to spill as little water as possible.

  “Trough’s getting low,” she yelled above the sound of wood splitting and crackling.

  He spun, rushing for more water. Ivy was at the pump, working the handle as hard as she could. Water gushed out, and Gideon scooped up two more pails of water then dashed back to the house. Smoke stung his nostrils, his chest hurt, but it looked as if the fire was dwindling. It had shifted direction and was now headed sideways rather than up toward the roof.

  Alongside Ivy, Gideon continued to drench the burning wood. The flames began to sputter and die. Ivy pitched more water on an ember that kept rekindling. Finally, the glow disappeared; the blaze died. Water soaked the ground around Ivy, dripped from the eaves and the side of the house.

  Intending to further wet down what he could, Gideon started toward her with two more buckets of water. A creak sounded overhead, and he realized it was a weakened beam. That would have to be fixed. Ash fluttered down. The acrid odor of smoke bit the air. The charred screen of wall began to crumble and sway. Toward Ivy.

  “Move!” he bellowed. “Ivy!”

  She looked over her shoulder and sprinted forward. The side of her bedroom collapsed, crashing down on her. She screamed and stumbled, falling facedown.

  Cold, piercing fear shanked his spine. Not even aware he’d moved, he found himself clawing at the charred wood, breaking and slinging pieces of blackened lumber out of the way. He could see her pale nightgown beneath the torched planks.

  Ignoring the sting of heat and splinters on his hands, he muscled the wall off her. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest.

  She pushed herself up, her gown muddy, her hair wet and streaming over her shoulders. Her dazed eyes met his. “Gideon?”

  Finally, he reached her. He knelt and gathered her up, carrying her several yards away from the broken glass and smoldering timber. The pup raced toward them from the direction of the woods.

  A huge searing knot lodged in his chest. Gideon coasted his hands gently over his wife. “Where are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”

  She shifted in his lap so she could sit up more fully and check herself.

  “I’m okay. I’m not burned at all,” she said in a half whisper, staring up at him in wonder. “My back’s a little sore, maybe scratched, but nothing feels out of place.”

  Unable to draw a full breath, he examined her as thoroughly as he could. The capped sleeves of her nightgown were torn and a few scratches raked down the silky length of her arm, but he saw no other injuries.

  He couldn’t believe it. He carefully angled her face so he could see her neck and shoulders. Aside from the scrapes, soot and mud, she looked fine. She felt even better.

  She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m all right. Truly. How’s your arm? It has to be paining you after all that.”

  “It’s fine.” It hurt like the devil, but all he cared about was that she was here in his lap, and she was okay.

  Moonlight spilled down on them, illuminating the singed table and lamp next to her bed, the scorched back side of the headboard.

  He hugged her to him.

  She drew back, her face streaked with ash and soot. Apprehension clouded her eyes. “Somebody did that on purpose.”

  “Yeah,” he said grimly.

  “Do you think it was intended for both of us?”

  “Yeah.” He thumbed away a smudge of black on her cheek. “They probably thought we were together in the bedroom.”

  A whine behind them alerted him to the pup’s presence. Gideon glanced back, glad to see the animal looked unharmed. “C’mon, girl.”

  Thunder crept warily toward them. Ivy laid her head on Gideon’s shoulder, coaxing the dog near until it finally crawled into her lap.

  The animal stared up at Gideon, nosing his chest in a plea for a scratch, but he wasn’t taking his hands off Ivy.

  “Good dog,” he said gruffly, resting his chin on Ivy’s head. “She knew there was trouble before I did.”

  “Thank goodness for both of you.” Ivy shuddered against him.

  He became aware of the cool air, their wet clothes, the dank smell of sodden wood. Smoke and ash spiraled to the sky, and he tightened his hold on Ivy, ignoring the sharp jab of pain in his left arm.

  He wasn’t letting her out of his sight tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either.

  * * *

  They cleaned up what they could, and Ivy grabbed a chemise from her wardrobe as well as a dress. Then they shut the door to her bedroom.

  Though the air was still laced with the odor of burned wood, the smell faded somewhat on the opposite side of the house. Ivy draped the garments over the handle of the pump on the other side of the house in hopes that most of the smell would dissipate. She then helped him tack quilts across the entrance into the guest hallway in order to close off that part of the house.

  Building a fire in the fireplace, he filled the kettle and hung it to heat along with a brick. He hauled more water to the bathing tub and washbasin set up in a small closet across the hall from the guest rooms. He kept a close eye on the flame under the kettle. The water was barely warm when he dumped it into the tub and added a heated brick.

  Ivy looked worn to a frazzle. He didn’t know how much longer she’d last. The bathwater would be tepid, but she said she didn’t care. All she wanted was to wash away the acrid stench of smoke.

  While she bathed, Gideon brought the pup’s crate into the far guest room. Thunder padded behind him, sniffing the floor, around the bed and bureau before curling up in her box.

  After Ivy finished in the tub, Gideon used her water to wash. He then tugged on the dry trousers he’d retrieved from his saddlebags in the barn. The pants, too, carried a smoky odor, but it was the best he could do. And on this side of the house, he and Ivy were as far from the charred remains as he could get them.

  Barefoot and bare-chested, he stood in the doorway of the bedroom where she was already asleep. Only now did his pulse slow to a normal rate. He’d never been so damn scared in his entire life. If something had happened to her—

  He cut off the thought. She was fine, which was a miracle. And he was fine. And they were together. He had determined what damage he could in the darkness. They would know more in the daylight, but first thing tomorrow, they were going to town to talk to the sheriff.

  Gideon would try to convince Ivy to stay in Paladin until he found the low-down snake who’d done this and stopped him. From now on, 100 percent of his efforts would be spent tracking down this bastard.

  His wounded arm ached to the bone, but he dismissed the discomfort. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke Ivy’s hair, still slightly damp from her towel-drying.

  She slept on her side facing him, huddled on the mattress as if protecting herself from something. He needed to be closer to her.

  Stretching out on top of the covers, he gathered her to him. She pressed close, her body relaxing. His chest hurt, and it had nothing to do with smoke or danger. The fullness in his heart was all about this slip of a woman.

  The fire might have cast a haze over the night, but it had brought things into sharp focus for Gideon. He loved her.

  It wasn’t some need to “rescue” her, as he’d felt with Eleanor, or because half of the farm was now his. It was about Ivy and only Ivy.

  He didn’t want to ever let her go. He wanted her to be his wife in every way. Though he still had to let her decide if she wished to make a real go of their marriage, he knew exactly what he desired. Her. For the rest of his life.

  He brushed a light kiss against her forehead and felt her stir agai
nst him.

  “Gideon?”

  “Hmm?”

  “This is real? We’re both okay?”

  “We’re both okay,” he said softly.

  She tilted her head back so she could see him. Moonlight skimmed over her petal-smooth skin, the arch of her dainty eyebrows and thick dark lashes.

  “I’ll move if you want. Not out of the room, but off of the bed. I just needed to feel for myself that you were all right.”

  “I don’t want you to move.” She touched his face, something new and soft in her eyes. Need. Invitation?

  Was he reading that right? Somehow, he didn’t know how, they were kissing. Hard and urgent at first, as if she needed the same reassurance he did that they were all right. Then her mouth softened under his. The kisses became slower, longer. Hot and sweet and giving.

  The sound that came from deep in her throat set off something fierce and demanding inside him. He pulled her tight into him, hungry to feel the fullness of her breasts, the warmth of her body through the light fabric of her chemise.

  She stroked his neck, her fingers a butterfly touch against his scar, and he didn’t even mind. He lifted his head, grazing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Are you sore anywhere?”

  “Only a little.” The words were raspy, probably from smoke.

  He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “Do you need anything?”

  She snuggled into him, making him wish he could feel her without clothes or the sheet between them. He wanted her to touch him all over, even his scars.

  “Where’s Thunder?” she asked.

  “Asleep in her crate over there in the corner.”

  “Thank you for the bathwater.”

  “You’re welcome.” Gideon kept his voice low, conscious of the hush in the room.

  The quiet outside was occasionally broken by the chirp of crickets or the hoot of an owl. The night folded around them, cradling them in a world of their own.

  Sliding a palm under her hair, he caressed her nape. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes.” She flattened a hand on his chest, flexing her fingers in the hair there. One finger traced a scar on his sternum.

  He wanted her like hell afire, but now wasn’t the time. Not after the scare they’d just had.

  “You’ll let me know if you need anything? Whatever you want.”

  She was silent for a long moment then raised herself so she could whisper in his ear, “I want you.”

  He started to say she didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t going anywhere. But she skimmed her hand down his belly, slightly below the waistband on his trousers.

  His heart kicked hard. “This is what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She kissed him again, sending a surge of heat through him.

  He wanted to strip her naked and slide into her right now. Possess her. But the other night had been too fast. This time, he intended to go as long as he could.

  The scrape of her nails across his abdomen drove a hard-edged want through him. He got out of bed and shucked his trousers.

  Her gaze glided slowly, slowly down his body, and the need on her face kicked off an urgency inside him. Before his knees gave, he climbed back in beside her, under the covers this time.

  She sat up, reaching to pull off her chemise.

  “No. Let me do it,” he said.

  She gave him a shy smile and dropped her hands to her sides. He burned to get her clothes off right now. Touch every silky inch of her body with his hands, then his mouth. Kiss her until neither one of them could breathe. Where to start?

  She made the decision for him, leaning forward to nuzzle his neck then nip his earlobe. Her soap didn’t quite mask the faint smell of smoke, but he’d never smelled anything so sweet.

  He reached for the ribbon on her shift, glad she wasn’t wearing a nightgown like she’d had on earlier with a million buttons down the front that he likely would’ve clumsily torn off.

  The garment loosened, and he dragged it over her shoulders and down her arms, nudging down the loose fabric until it pooled at her waist. Now that she was bared to him, his breath jammed in his throat.

  Her nipples were tight and dusky in the pale light. He cupped her full breasts, his thumbs rubbing over her nipples. The sight of his rough hands on her delicate skin sent his blood streaking through him in a white-hot rush.

  She pressed hard against his erection, and he lowered his head, curling his tongue around her taut flesh. His name spilled out of her in a broken moan.

  Hell, he couldn’t take much of that. Easing her down on her back, he swept her chemise off completely. For a long moment, he just stared at her. Silvery light coasted over her shoulders, the flat of her belly and the jut of her hip bones.

  She lifted herself against him and set her teeth on his neck, sending all his blood south. He clenched his muscles, searching for control as his mouth returned to hers.

  Threading his hands into her thick raven hair, he brushed his lips across her cheek, her jaw, a spot just below her ear that had her shifting restlessly against him. Gideon moved his lips to the hollow of her throat; he could feel her pulse racing beneath his tongue.

  She slid her arms around his shoulders, making a ragged sound that frayed his restraint. “Gideon, I want to be close to you,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

  “I’m not.”

  She reached down and curled her fingers around him. “I think you are.”

  He stroked her hair. “The other night was too fast.”

  “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”

  He smiled. “Let’s see how far we get.”

  She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him hard and long. He swept a hand up her slender thigh, delving a finger inside her silky heat. Her body clenched him then went soft. Well, they hadn’t gotten very far. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He levered himself between her legs, nudging her thighs wider with one of his. Pushing slowly inside, he closed his eyes in pure pleasure. When he began to move, she kept her gaze fixed to his. The desire, the softness in her face speared clear to his heart. She wouldn’t have asked for this if she wasn’t willing to make their marriage real and permanent.

  For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged somewhere. To someone. Every lash of the whip, every violent bruise and minute spent in the dark hole of prison had led him here. To her.

  He slid his arms under her, holding her as close as possible, losing himself in the midnight depths of her eyes. Meeting every stroke of his body with her own, she clasped him tight to her.

  She’d said they shouldn’t sleep together again since she didn’t want to stay married, and he’d honored that. But he had asked her to think about staying married and now she had answered him, taking him into her bed, her body. She’d said yes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day was a blur. After rounding up the horses, Ivy and Gideon drove into town, where they reported the fire and Gideon’s gunshot wound to the sheriff. Once home, they discovered half the town there, already well on the way to clearing away the debris. The men had then helped Gideon reframe and rebuild Ivy’s bedroom while the women washed everything in the house from clothes and curtains to floors and walls.

  Conrad was there, too. Gideon said he would check the stage driver’s footprints at some point, and waiting to find out if he managed to do so nagged Ivy like a headache the rest of the day.

  By the time everyone left at dark, the farm had been put to rights as best it could be. She leaned against a porch column, the pup at her feet as they waited for Gideon. Tonight was clear with no smoky haze or gray clouds blocking the moon, though there was still a faint pungent odor.

  Gideon walked up the steps, bending to
give the pup a scratch behind the ears. His hair curled damply against his nape. The blue work shirt he wore was streaked with grime and soot. He smelled of wood and a hint of smoke.

  Bracing his back against the opposite column, he scrubbed at his face with a wet bandanna. Fatigue creased his features, and she knew he had to be as tired as she was.

  She opened the front door, motioning him inside. “Did you have any luck with Conrad’s footprints?”

  “I managed to check them.” As he crossed the threshold, he shook his head, clearly frustrated. “They weren’t a match to what we found in the woods.”

  “Oh, forevermore!” Ivy blew out a breath, both disappointed and exasperated. “That leaves the mayor as our best suspect.”

  “And he’s out of town.”

  “I hope it isn’t for much longer. I’m ready for this to be over.”

  “So am I,” Gideon said in a gritty voice.

  They fell into bed exhausted.

  At midmorning on Monday, she was in the root cellar making sure that no food in here had been ruined. All the fruit, pickles and beans she’d canned were fine. Underground and set away from her bedroom, the cellar hadn’t suffered any damage. There was only the occasional whiff of smoke.

  She came up the cellar stairs, intending to gather the remaining sheets, blankets and clothes that had been left on the line to dry overnight, but the clop-clop of an approaching horse had her changing direction.

  She went to the front window, stopping cold when she saw the mayor in his buggy. What was he doing here?

  Gideon was in the back pasture searching for the two remaining cows that hadn’t returned after the fire scare. The pup, playing with an old rag Ivy had knotted into a ball, dropped the toy and followed Ivy out the door then down the porch steps.

  Leo braked his buggy at the horse trough along the fence. “Mrs. Black.”