Gerrity's Bride

Emmaline shook her head in disgust and walked back to watch from the window as the couple approached the buggy standing in front of the house. A small, dark mare stood patiently within the harness, tied to the hitching rail that was just beyond the patch of grass.

How odd, she thought. The woman would make a wonderful actress, changing from feigned sorrow to acceptance to disdain in a matter of moments. And for the life of her, Emmaline couldn’t put a finger on which emotions were genuine. That the girl truly cared for Matthew was probable. This likely was the one he had referred to. The one he said would not be heartbroken by his marriage.

She tended to agree with his judgment. “I don’t think anyone could break her heart,” she said beneath her breath as she watched them. Matthew assisted Deborah onto the high seat of the buggy and then untied the mare, turning the buggy with one hand on the harness. Lifting a hand in a farewell, he watched as the horse broke into a rapid trot at the urging of her mistress.

He turned back to the house, his eyes fixed on the window where Emmaline waited, narrowing as he caught sight of her there. With long, measured strides, he went back to the porch and up the steps to cross to the wide front door. In moments, as long as it took her to turn aside from the window and move halfway across the room, he was back, framed in the doorway, his face a dark cloud of anger.

“All that was far from necessary,” he said with rough impatience. You should have kept your nose outa here, Emmaline. This whole thing was none of your business.”

A twinge of guilt stabbed her, and she hastily threw up a barricade of irritation to thwart its interference. “My name was mentioned. That made it my business,” she said pertly. “After all, I’m the bride you dragged out of the woodwork,” she added with soft emphasis.

“If you hadn’t been eavesdropping, you wouldn’t have heard that remark,” he growled defensively. His jaw firmed and his eyes glittered as she glowered at him.

“I was coming from my bedroom down the hallway. I couldn’t help but hear,” she explained with lofty hauteur.

“Well, you should have trotted right back down that hallway. You could tell that Deborah was upset,” he said with measured anger. “I had only just told her that we were to be married, and she spoke too quickly.”

“Are you defending her, Matthew?” Clasping her hands behind her back, Emmaline surveyed him cooly.

“Deborah doesn’t need defending. She’s more than able to take care of herself,” he answered bluntly.

“Perhaps just the sort of wife you need.” Emmaline’s suggestion was coated with subtle sarcasm.

“Perhaps.” The word dropped between them, and Matthew wished immediately that he could retrieve it, unsaid. This had gone on long enough, and he sensed Emmaline becoming more agitated by the moment.

“Look, it’s beside the point, Emmaline. I’m not marrying Deborah. I’ve never even discussed the subject with her. She’s a neighbor and a friend. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

“Maybe you never discussed marriage with her, but your friend certainly had it in mind, Matthew. And what was I supposed to think when I came and found you...together?” she asked emphatically.

He glared at her impotently, unable to deny her statement. “She was crying. What should I have done? Shoved her away?”

Emmaline shrugged. “I’m sure a gentleman like you would never do that.”

She could really get his dander up, Matt acknowledged glumly. And in a way, she was right. Certainly Deborah had been considering him as a husband. He’d have been a fool not to recognize it. And he probably should have been more considerate when he broke the news to her. But a few kisses and stolen caresses didn’t add up to marriage, in his book. Deborah had probably set her cap in his direction, and his innate honesty forced him to admit silently that it likely would have come about...had not this fiery little baggage come into his life.

But she had, making an impact he was still attempting to absorb. His aggravation at her interference and the rush of emotion she managed to let loose within him combined as he approached her with measured tread.

Too late, she attempted to sidestep his grasp. He was upon her before she could maneuver past him, and his hands were reaching for her. His eyes flared with a hot purpose that had her retreating, struggling against his hold, turning her head from the warmth of his appraisal.

“Let go of me,” she demanded, her hands rising between them and fisting, to pound against the width of his chest.

“Not on your life,” he growled. “You sauntered in here and claimed your rightful place. Don’t deny it, Emmaline. You knew exactly what you were doing when you came through that doorway.”

She met his eyes with a wary look, and her hands unclenched, her fingers spreading against his shirt and pressing against him, as if to retain some small space in which to defend herself.

“No, I...” she began carefully, attempting to explain her actions, then stopped, knowing he was right. She probably should have retreated to her room and left Matt to his explanations. Better yet, if she’d stayed in her room just a while longer... No matter. It was done. She’d known he’d be angry with her interference, and, too late, she wished she could undo the events of the past several minutes.

He held her shoulders firmly, his eyes focused on the myriad expressions that flooded her features. Then his gaze lowered, sweeping over the same dark dress Deborah had surveyed with such scorn. His mouth quirked at one corner, and his fingers shifted their grip, sliding a few inches down her arms. One eyebrow lifted a bit as he watched her, unwillingly admiring her defiant stance.

Emmaline felt heat radiate within her as he surveyed her, from the uptilted thrust of her chin to the soft curves of her breasts. She faced him proudly, fighting the urge to cross her arms over the cushion of her bosom, her senses vibrantly alive beneath the dark intensity of his gaze.

With heavy-lidded precision, his eyes lazily surveyed her slender form, and his movements were careful as he allowed his hands to slide to her waist. Then, moving them upward, he clasped her ribs, just beneath the swell of her bosom, and with a steady urgency his thumbs moved, resting against the lower curve of her breasts.

She flushed, feeling the pressure there, where no man had ever dared to trespass before. Where no gentleman had even cast a lingering glance in passing. She was taken aback by his forward behavior, and yet within her she felt a spark of excitement that would not be denied. A flaring need brought tingling life to the part of her that he touched...a warmth that begged to be brushed against, a heat that cried for the movement of his hands. But good sense, and her rigid upbringing by Delilah, prevailed.

“Don’t.” The single word whispered from her lips, was a plea he could not deny. He lifted his gaze reluctantly from the vision that tempted him and looked instead into her eyes.

As quickly as it had filled him, Matt’s flaring anger was gone, washed away on a tide of regret. As much as Emmaline had deserved his harsh disapproval, she was not deserving of his crudeness.

His hands dropped from her, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled abruptly. “I’m sorry, Emmaline. I shouldn’t have touched you in anger.”

“No...” She shook her head.

For a moment, she swayed, her own breathing irregular, her heart fluttering within her breast like a captured bird that strained to escape. Once more his hands framed her shoulders, and he steadied her, his jaw firm, his gaze sober, only the strange light in his eyes giving her a glimpse of the emotion he held in check.

Her laugh was uneven and forced as she tilted her head to one side. “You’ve really done it now, you know,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Have I?” He muttered the words through lips that barely moved.

“Yes, you’ve let the cat out of the bag. You told Miss Hopkins that you’re going to marry me. The whole town will know it by nightfall, if the Arizona Territory is anything like the state of Kentucky. And I suspect people are alike the world over.”

“Maybe,” he conceded roughly.

She tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his. “Are you going to marry me?” she whispered, and he nodded without hesitation.

“When?” she asked in the same whisper, as if she could not raise her voice beyond the soft questioning that was but a breath of sound.

“As soon as I can make the arrangements.”

Her mouth formed a soft O and he yielded to the temptation of her lips, his mouth descending to cover them with his own.

She shivered in surprise, bracing herself for the same sort of assault he had launched on the porch only days ago. Instead, Emmaline found that the mouth he pressed to hers was all warmth and tenderness. His hands slid up to either side of her head, holding her with gentle purpose as he explored the textures of her face. Her eyes closed and she caught her breath as his caress brushed against her cheek and then to her temple, his nose burrowing in the curls that lay in abandon against her brow.

She was caught up in the pleasure he offered. With only a moment’s hesitation, she leaned into his embrace and relaxed against the broad firmness of his chest. Tentatively her fingers crept to his shoulders, and she grasped handfuls of his shirt.

He gentled his touch, only his mouth paying homage to the softness of her skin, the curve of her throat, and again to the lips that inhaled his scent.

This time he growled a wordless sound of triumph as he parted her lips and edged his tongue against the tender skin. “Open your mouth for me,” he said with dark purpose, his lips brushing carefully with coaxing movements.

She shook her head, moving against his grasp. Her eyes opened in dismay as his demand penetrated her lassitude.

His sigh was deep and his regret enormous as he drew back. A trace of humor lit the depths of his eyes and his mouth twisted in wry acceptance as he viewed the flushed face of the woman he intended to marry.

She wore his brand—the glow of latent passion that lay just beneath the surface of her bewilderment. He tamped down the surge of desire that billowed once more within him.

“You’ll open for me next time,” he promised her in a lazy drawl that told her of his satisfaction at this turn of events.

She dropped her hands from him, confusion darkening her eyes as she considered what he had demanded of her. Then, the determination within caused her to her stiffen against his grasp. She shook away his hands, stepping back from the nearness of his big body.