Brides of the West Page 3

“I don’t bite,” the old man said, his carved face splitting to reveal brown stained teeth.

  “Uncle Raven lives here,” Jake said flatly.

  This native was his uncle? She looked from one to the other, seeking a resemblance. Jake glowered at her.

  She stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Raven.”

  The old man wiped his hands on his leather buckskins and shook it in a firm warm grasp. “Raven,” he croaked. “Just Raven, ma’am.” He shot Jake a glare from beneath lowered brows. “I’m not really an uncle.”

  These Americans certainly believed in informality.

  Jake must have given the two boys a lecture on manners outside, because they went to their chairs, but remained standing behind them, waiting for her to sit.”

  She smiled at them. Dave smiled back. Matt curled his lip.

  Jake pulled out a chair for her at one end of the table and she sat. He strode to his own chair at the opposite end.

  “Texans are polite,” Dave said.

  “So they are,” Tess replied as the men took their seats in a clatter and scrape of wood against wood.

  Fork in hand, Jake looked at Dave enquiringly.

  “We were talking about local customs before you came in,” Tess explained.

  Matt glowered, but said nothing.

  “Is it your custom to say grace before a meal?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Jake said.

  “No,” chorused the boys and Uncle Raven.

  “It is now,” Jake growled. He bowed his head and said a few word of thanks.

  “Eat up,” Tess said.

  “Finally,” Matt said under his breath.

  For the next little while the only sounds were those of enjoyment. The odd ‘pass the bread,’ a bit of slurping from the boys and a very contented sigh from Uncle Raven as he put down his fork.

  “Would you like some more?” Tess asked.

  He pressed a hand to his stomach. “I’ll burst if I eat another bite.”

  Jake leaned back, a sensually satisfied cast to his mouth. “Thank you,” he said. “That was a real nice surprise.”

  Tess’ heart swelled out of all proportion to the praise. She liked to cook, but Pete’s chef had rarely allowed her in the kitchen. “You are all very welcome.”

  “If you cook like that,” Dave said, “I don’t mind if Uncle Jake marries a girl.”

  Jake stiffened.

  Tess felt her cheeks go red. “Er...your uncle and I are not going to get married.”

  Dave’s eyes widened to the size of his bowl. “But that means—”

  “It means she ain’t stayin’,” Matt said. “Right, Uncle Jake? That’s what you said outside to Uncle Raven.”

  “You are right, Matt,” Tess said. “I am just visiting. I am going to catch the stagecoach on Wednesday.”

  Dave’s shoulders slumped. He stared at the table and said nothing.

  A heavy silence filled the room.

  Sweat ran down between Tess’ shoulder blades in what felt like a torrent. “My word it is hot.”

  “Always hot in summer,” Raven said.

  Now there was a conversation stopper. “Not in England,” she said with a raised brow.

  ***

  The air in the bedroom weighed on Tess like a wool blanket. She threw back the sheet and turned on her side peering into the shadows cast by the lantern. Amidst the shadows and patches of light, she pictured Jake’s square jaw and lean cheekbones, the brilliance of his eyes. Foolish shadows. She sighed. Never had she seen a man so handsome. A sweet ache blossomed deep in her core, her pulse picked up speed and her blood ran hot. Just what she needed. More heat.

  She flopped over on her back. Dash it, where was the breeze of earlier this evening. Why did the cool night air seem to trap the hot air inside the house?

  What-might-have-beens swirled in her restless mind. Her cooking, him returning home of an evening and gazing at her with that seductive smile before his hands came around her waist and pulled her close. She still felt the imprint of those hands on her waist as if he had branded her when he lifted her from the gig. What had he called it? A buggy?

  And children. A whole host of boys with dark hair and blue eyes around the kitchen table looking just like their tall handsome father . . .

  Enough. It wasn’t going to happen. She kicked the sheet off the bed and rolled on her other side, praying for a cool breeze from the window. A faint breath of air kissed her cheek, cooled the sweat on her brow. She was halfway tempted to strip off her nightgown. Mother would be horrified. Or perhaps not. With the new man in her life, Mother seemed oblivious to everything, particularly anything Tess had to say. If only Albert would give up his foolish notions of striking out on his own and come home everything could be comfortable again.

  She punched at her pillow. Blasted heat.

  Perhaps if she opened the window more... She swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded across to the pale break in the dark wall. She found the casement ajar just a fraction and flung it wide. To her surprise it opened all the way to the floor. It was a door. And beyond it a balcony.

  Cautiously, she stuck her head outside. It wasn’t a balcony, so much as an extension of the porch. It must run around the corner to the front door. The boards out here felt wonderfully cool beneath her bare feet.

  The thought of cool night air on her parched skin seemed to grab her throat with longing. Dare she? What about snakes?

  She quelled a shudder. Drat it. Was she going to be intimidated by a creature no wider than a stick and half as tall as she? Surely snakes didn’t come near houses? They lived out there. She glanced at the moon-drenched landscape with the twisted limbs of mesquite standing like tormented guardians of the wilderness. Snakes slumbered on rocks in hot sun. Jake never said anything about them slithering around at night.

  One step at a time, maintaining gliding contact with the rough wood planks beneath her feet, she headed for the railing. Like the trail of a silent rocket, pinpoints of stars emblazoned the sky, only fading into inky black to the west, where the colder light of the moon over-powered their twinkle.

  “Oh my,” she breathed.

  “Beautiful night, ain’t it?” a deep voice said. Satisfaction thickened the deep drawl to the texture of rich cream.

  Jake. Her vision adjusted. Leaning against the railing, his solid bulk blacked out the brighter sky, a shadow outlined in sequins. She wasn’t the least bit surprised, she realized with wry amusement. Even if her mind hadn’t told her he would be here, alone in the dark, her wicked body had known it on some deep primal level. The pulsing desire that had been a low hum in her blood from the moment she looked into those indescribably bright blue eyes now filled her ears with a wild drumbeat.

  Oh my. This time, she kept the thought to herself.

  “Good evening, Jake,” she murmured. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

  A long low chuckle emanated across the dark divide between them. “I came out for a breath of cool air and a seegar.”

  He pronounced it with such sensual appreciation her toes curled into the wood.

  “Don’t stop on my account. I love the scent of tobacco.”

  He took her at her word, because a moment later a match flared with the pungent smell of phosphorus. It lit the hard lean angles of his square face along with the slender cigarillo clenched in strong white teeth as he inhaled. The cigar glowed red. His long slow exhale of pleasure blew out the match and turned her insides to porridge.

  The aromatic smoke curled around her as if forming some invisible link between them.

  “Would you care to set a spell?” he asked.

  “Set a spell?” Did he think she looked like a witch? Was that the reason for his instant dislike?

  “I—”

  “I can pull the bench up to the rail if you like.”

  Chairs. She squeezed her eyes tight for a second. He meant sit for a while. Sometimes it was as if these Americans spoke a foreign language. “Yes. I would like that v
ery much.” More than she really dared admit, despite the little skip of her heart.

  His shadow moved, disappeared. Wood scraped against wood and a thump vibrated the planks beneath her feet. “There you are, ma’am. I mean, Tess.” The smile she couldn’t see came through loud and clear in his voice. Her heart clenched in foolish longing and she found herself blinking back moisture.

  Gaining her composure with what she hoped was an inaudible sniff, she slid one hand along the rail for a guide until her foot encountered the seat’s solid leg. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He lowered himself onto the other end and swung his booted heels up on the rail with a deep sigh of contentment. “I reckon I favor this end of the day.”

  She ought to be looking at the stars, at the beauty of nature, but sight of his muscled thighs in tight black pants held her fixated. Oh great heavens. If she could see him... She glanced down at her nightgown and was relieved to discover that while a shaft of light from her room fell across him, she remained cloaked in the deeper shadow of the porch.

  The silence lingered comfortably along with his cigar smoke. Now, sitting still, she could once more feel the breeze on her face. It fluttered her gown around her ankles. Delicious. Cooling.

  “Have you lived here long?” she asked.

  “All my life.”

  “It is...” She struggled for a word to describe her awe. Big did not seem nearly expressive enough. “Magnificent. Grand.” She laughed softly. “Beautiful.”

  “Different to where you come from? England?”

  “Very. I lived in London, near Cheapside. You can barely see the sky for smoke and chimney pots.”

  “Don’t sound like my kinda place.”

  Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine this loose-limbed cowboy in a top hat and a starched white cravat. “I like it there,” she said firmly. Exactly who did she hope to convince?

  “Then what brought you all the way out here to be married?”

  She hesitated, unwilling to reveal too much of the truth. Her body might ache to throw itself into his arms instead of sitting all prim and proper on the chair at his side, but she had no reason at all to make him a gift of her trust.

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “And of very little interest.”

  ***

  The husky, almost scratchy, timbre of her voice set Jake’s blood alight in a ribbon of fire every time she opened her mouth. Listening to her, inhaling the smell of his soap on her skin laced with her uniquely female scent was almost as good as sex. Almost.

  Hell. He’d been semi-aroused since the moment he’d seen her dozing in the sun. But her avoidance of his question piqued another kind of emotion. Curiosity. A desire to know her better. Something he rarely felt about women anymore.

  “I’ve got all night,” he said.

  Again she gave that low hoarse chuckle with its sharp edge. Blood rushed to his groin as if he was sixteen instead of going on thirty. If this continued, his balls’d be bluer than Uncle Raven’s warpaint by morning. Cuss it, he’d have to make a trip to the privy to take care of the matter before he tried to sleep with her not four feet from his head. And in his bed, no less. Dammit.

  “It really isn’t a very interesting tale.” She gazed out into the night. Against the lamplight, her profile looked sharp, pointy, nervous, like a fox or a wild cat with its claws barely sheathed.

  “You don’t look old enough to be a widow,” he said speculatively.

  Her head shot around to look in his direction as if she sought his expression. Could she see his face in the shadows? He thought not, but kept it noncommittal.

  “I married young. My husband was an older gentleman. A friend of the family. A businessman interested in putting money in our family business. It seemed like a good arrangement at the time.” She spoke quickly, then paused as if expecting his comment.

  “Not so different from a mail order bride,” he said, feeling just a mite uncomfortable.

  “No,” she murmured. “Not so very different, except that I had known him all my life. He was a good, kind man. It was the perfect solution to some money problems my parents had at the time.”

  “What happened to your husband?”

  “Influenza. Two years ago. It killed a few people in our neighborhood, mostly the very young and the elderly, including my husband and my father. I did my best to care for them.” She sounded almost angry.

  “Do you have children?” Lord A’mighty, she didn’t look strong enough to bear a child.

  “No. Sadly not.”

  Regret filled those whispered short words. The ache of sympathy in his chest surprised him. But women from the East were notoriously fickle. For all that Bill’s wife protested her love, she’d hated the way child-bearing changed her life.

  “So what did make you decide to come all the way out here, instead of marryin’ one of those fine London gentlemen?” he asked.

  She drew her feet up onto the seat, cradling her shins with her arms, resting her chin on her knees. He visualized the slim legs and firm round bottom he’d seen moments before through the cotton fabric of her gown outlined by the lamplight spilling from her room.

  “I thought it would make a change.”

  The slight hesitation told him she was lying. That saddened him. It weren’t none of his business, and she could just have said that. For some reason, against all logic, he felt...disappointed. Left out.

  He drew on his cigar. It no longer tasted good. Hell. Surely by now he was used to the sensation of exclusion. He’d lived with it all his life.

  “I’m sorry I was not the wife you were seeking,” she said, sounding crisp and practical and yet he thought he heard a note of regret in those husky tones. Or was it merely politeness?

  “You sure seemed relieved when I said so,” he replied.

  She raised her head a fraction. Wisps of hair that the moonlight painted black instead of russet, haloed her tiny face. He sensed her full soft kissable lips curving into a smile, even though he couldn’t see them.

  “To be honest, I wondered what sort of man needed to buy a wife.”

  He winced. The curiosity went both ways it seemed.

  “The Bride for All folks surely mentioned the shortage of women in the West. Suitable women,” he amended, mentally discarding the kind of women available to him.

  “Do none of the other ranchers around here have daughters?”

  “Some. Their kind set their sights a good bit higher.” They all knew. His father had made sure the moment he found out. They’d been looking down their noses at him ever since. “And there ain’t one of them I’d offer for.” She didn’t need to know the cold hard facts. She was leaving. Let someone in town tell her, then he wouldn’t have to see her scorn.

  “You are a choosy man.” The small catch in her voice seemed to express an acre of hurt. It was wishful thinking putting thoughts in his head, he decided. She was far too calm to be upset and she’d definitely been pleased when he’d said it wouldn’t work.

  And yet something didn’t feel right under his skin. He’d been too blunt, maybe. “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you personally. My rejection.” Shit. That sounded bad. “I mean a woman like you ain’t cut out for this life. I expected someone stronger, more...” Hell the stiffness of her body indicated he was digging himself a hole as deep as the Grand Canyon. “Substantial.” God. That sounded as if he was only interested in tits. And she had lovely breasts, palm sized, like peaches. “Older. To take care of the boys. They are a couple of scallywags at the best of times. Old Tom Wilkins knew my needs.”

  Her chin dropped back on her knees and her long loose hair fell around her shoulders, veiling her face. “You are a good uncle to them.”

  “Family comes first.” It always had. And he wasn’t about to risk it for a bad case of lust.

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  And strangely he sensed that she did. Tension oozed out of his shoulders.

  “I am used to boys, thoug
h,” she went on. “My father had a gaggle of apprentices in his workshop and I have a younger brother.”

  He swallowed. “Are you suggestin’ you want to stay?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all. The sooner I get to San Antonio the better.”

  The evidence of her desire to leave was undeniable and cutting. He curled his lip. “Are you lookin’ to A Bride for All to give you another contract?” He found he didn’t like the idea one little bit. Naw. Stronger than that. He hated the idea.

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  The relief sparking through him kindled anger. At himself. Dammit. It didn’t matter what she did after she left here. He dropped his feet from the rail, stood, flicked his stogy onto the boards and crushed it beneath a boot heel. “I’ll take you to town in the mornin’. I need to pick up some supplies. Might as well do it this week as next.”

  She rose, facing him. “Jake?”

  “Yes.” He ached for her to touch him with her hands, the way she caressed him with her voice. She stood but a shoulder-width, mebbe less, from his chest. If she took a deep breath her breasts might actually graze the fabric of his shirt, if he judged it right and breathed in at the exact same moment.

  “Thank you for saving me from that horrid snake,” she murmured. “I should not have given you the rough edge of my tongue for being late. I was rude.”

  The deep regret in her voice plumb puzzled him.

  He grunted and put a hand on her fine-boned shoulder. It was like touching a bird, one squeeze and the bones would crush beneath his fingers. “I was just mighty thankful you didn’t faint clean away.”

  She tipped her chin. “I’ve never fainted in my life.”

  She sounded so cross, he believed her. His gaze dropped to the lush lips that spoke with such cute feminine indignation and felt his own curve in a smile.

  Her mouth parted with a small gasp and she leaned in a fraction.

  His bollocks tightened in anticipation of her body against his. His fingers clenched instinctively to pull her close.

  He jerked his hand away. “Go to bed.” His voice sounded harsh. He couldn’t help it, he needed to get away from her, before he did something they’d both regret. “You need to be up early.”