Oklahoma Sweetheart

The house was small, the windows covered with shutters, but the back porch held a collection of scattered footprints in the snow that covered its surface. Connor drew his horse to a halt and slid from his saddle. The reins were wound around a hitching rail quickly and he stepped onto the porch.

Loris was dozing again, curled into her quilt on the floor, her stomach having found relief from its empty state, the skillet in the sink, soaking in the basin. She’d given in to the sleepy warmth of the stove and found her place on the floor once more, settling down to sleep, knowing that it would do her more good than tramping around in the snow, trying to discover her surroundings.

The sound of the door opening penetrated her slumber and she caught her breath, lying as quietly as possible as she heard the footsteps enter the kitchen. Then the sound of the heavy portal closing told her she was trapped in the room with an intruder.

“Loris?” His voice was low, his tone tentative, and she sat up warily.

It had sounded like Connor, the voice deep and soft, the syllables of her name rolling from his tongue in a sound that reminded her of the breeze rustling though the trees in springtime.

But it wouldn’t be Connor, she reminded herself. He’d left her on her own, just yesterday, and he was a stubborn man, not given to changing his mind, especially not overnight, and particularly not about such an important issue.

She’d betrayed Connor. He would hold his hurt pride like a shield before him, should they meet, and the thought of ever seeing him smile at her again was beyond hope.

“Loris.” This time her name was spoken in a commanding tone, and she felt the bidding of the man behind her. She turned in her quilt, her gaze seeking the intruder, and found the face of the man she’d loved for three years of her life.

“Connor?” She whispered the familiar, beloved name of the man she’d planned to marry, and noted the look of relief that washed over his handsome features. Taller than his brother, but not as muscular, Connor had a shock of black hair and the same blue Irish eyes as James. Yet, on this man, they were soft and appealing, and Loris wondered how she’d ever thought James to be the handsomer of the two, how she’d ever been fool enough to hurt Connor so badly.

He stepped closer and squatted beside her. His hands were big, his flesh cold, as he lifted her from the floor, but she did not flinch from him, welcoming his touch instead.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. “Mama gave me some food to take along,” she told him. “I’ve eaten this morning.”

“Are you cold?” He seemed intent on her revealing each small bit of information he could drag from her.

“No,” she said softly, shivering as the cooler air in the room penetrated her clothing. Curled by the stove, she’d indeed been warm. Now, uncovered and sitting erect, she felt the chill. Her coat was tossed aside, having been used for cover as she slept, and now she reached for it.

“You’re shaking with the cold,” Connor said firmly, lifting her to her feet, looking down at the coat she held by one sleeve. “Let me help you put that on.”

“Just pull the quilt around me,” she told him. “And then put some more wood in the stove.” She watched him as he released her and did as she asked, adding four large chunks of wood to her fire, and wrapping her securely in her quilt.

He watched her, his gaze hooded, his mouth firm and straight, with no sign of softening on his harsh features. Connor was handsome, she’d long ago decided. He was not a beautiful man, as was James. Connor had features that were knife-sharp, his nose a blade, his cheekbones high and seemingly carved from granite. If not for the blue eyes, she might have feared him, had she not known the man.

But she knew the soft heart beneath the broad chest, the tenderness he could call forth at will, enveloping her in his arms and holding her as he might a treasured creature he claimed as his own.

She’d turned her back on all of that, she realized, the day she’d given in to James’s coaxing and offered herself to him. And loved him desperately with a love that had turned to ashes at his betrayal of her.

Now she faced the man who had planned a future for them, who had placed his ring on her finger and offered her his love. Connor. The man she had hurt beyond forgiveness. Who had offered her his help, should she want to leave town, who had apparently spent his morning looking for her when she came up missing today.

He watched her closely and she knew he was evaluating her, gauging her condition, allowing her to gather herself before he spoke again.

She bent her head, so that she no longer needed to see his harsh face hovering above hers. “I’m sorry you’ve gone to so much trouble, Connor,” she said. “I didn’t think you might be looking for me.”

“I never intended for you to be frozen by the side of the road or left on your own, the way you were last night,” he said.

“What did you think would happen?” she asked, lifting her gaze to his, venturing bravely to watch his expression.

His brow twitched as he considered her query. And then he breathed deeply, as if his words were hard to come by. “I didn’t think your father would throw you out. I thought your mother would defend you. I went to your house this morning to make certain you were all right, and I couldn’t believe my ears when your mother said you’d left last evening.”

His eyes were icy, the chill of anger gripping him.

“Well, I’m all right, as you can see,” she said, fearful of his anger being turned against her. But it seemed there was little chance of that, for he only shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re far from all right,” he said sharply. “You’re alone and about three hours from freezing to death, should that stove not be fed on a regular basis.”

“There’s some food here in the pantry,” she said defensively. “And wood outside. I won’t freeze.”

“And what happens when that pitiful pile of wood runs out?” he asked. “And when the food in the pantry is eaten?”

“There’s enough wood for a couple of days, and I’ll look for an ax to cut more.”

“You’re going to chop wood?” he asked. “You’d be more likely to cut your toes off or swing wrong and slice your leg open. And then what would you do?”

“I won’t do that,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll be careful.”

“You’re a woman,” Connor said with a stern look that stripped her of her bravado.

“What’s wrong with being a woman?” she asked sharply. “I can take care of myself.”

He was silent, his eyes holding hers, his mouth a straight line, giving her no clue as to his thoughts.

“I’ll be fine here,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about me, Connor. I’m strong and able to tend to things.”

“You’re strong?” he asked, and with one smooth movement, he gathered her against himself and held her tightly, one arm around her waist, the other banding her shoulders.

She was trapped in his embrace, and even though she feared him not, she knew her position was that of a woman who could not move without the consent of the man who held her immobile. “Don’t try to frighten me, Connor,” she said softly.

“Are you frightened?” he asked harshly, as though his mood had turned to anger.

She hesitated, unwilling to admit the wash of alarm that had indeed sped through her veins. And then she looked up into his face and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you,” she told him. “You’re angry with me, but you won’t hurt me.”

“I want to,” he admitted. “I want to shake you and knock you to the floor for betraying me. I loved you, Loris. I’d planned on a life with you, and you turned your back on all that to seek out my brother. And then you let him make love to you.” His nostrils flared as if he could barely contain the pain and rage that coursed through him.

His big hands clutched her shoulders and she braced herself for his harsh touch on her slender form. But he only drew her closer to himself and his mouth claimed hers with a passion she could not refute.

She submitted to his kiss, feeling the bruising of her mouth, the crush of his embrace, the strength of his hands as he held her. His tongue claimed her, sweeping into her mouth, the invasion one he’d never instigated before. Always his kisses had been gentle, tender and welcomed.

That this claiming of her mouth was none of those mattered little. She only stood before him and endured. There was no tenderness in his caresses, for his hands were harsh, clutching at her softness, his fingers biting into her hips, his mouth hard against hers. She tasted blood and knew it came from her lips. She felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her belly, through several layers of clothing, and braced herself for his taking.

It was not to be, for he lifted his head and looked down at her. One long index finger lifted to rub at her lip and she winced at the pain of it.

“Your lip is bleeding, Loris,” he said softly.

“I know,” she told him. “I can taste it.” That the inside of her lips were bruised and cut by the force of her teeth against them was of little matter. Her pain was small in comparison to what he felt, and she would not complain.

But Connor seemed to sense more than she had expected of him, for he touched her mouth with his own again, and this time the kiss was tender, a silent plea for her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, his voice hoarse as if the words were those of a man who had drunk his share, and more, of whiskey and was speaking past the aching throat muscles of one who had had reason to regret his overindulgence.