Authors: Em Petrova
Facing the small window of her bedroom, she stared at the purplish-gray light of dawn. Her father would be up any minute, and she could only hope to hide the redness in her cheeks and the marks that surely blotched her skin from the rough hair on Graham's jaw.
She smoothed her fingers over the lines of her throat, feeling the tenderness even now. He'd spent at least an hour kissing her throat, finding a hot spot that had made her writhe and nearly come undone from the probing of his tongue.
A new shiver coursed through her.
He was now riding across the prairie between their ranches, probably smug as hell. Before taking leave of her, he'd bent her over his arm and kissed her breathless. Then he'd stared into her eyes and told her in a husky voice how special she was and how hopeful she'd made his future.
Pretty words that sent pangs of warmth to more places than her pussy.
Finally, he'd sent her toward her house with a pat on her backside. “You look well-loved, Nibby,” he'd said in a low drawl.
Even that dreadful nickname sent shocks of pleasure through her. A smile bowed her mouth at the memory.
Suddenly, movement outside the window caught her eye. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass in time to see a darkened figure steal toward the space between outbuildings where she and Graham had lain.
That hired man, Jenkins.
Twisting from the window, she patted her hair and her clothing, making sure she was presentable when she went out to greet her father. He was aging but still possessed a shrewd eye. Besides, they'd lived alone together, which meant he had no one else to study closely. He'd know from a mere twinkle in her eye that something was amiss.
When she opened the rough wooden door onto the common room, Pa was already there, his chair drawn up to the fire. He craned his neck to see her. “Up a bit late this morning, Kathleen. Feeling well?"
"Yessir."
"All that excitement yesterday with the new addition to the barn stealing over you?” He slid his stockinged foot into his boot.
Or a man stealing away with me...along with my virtue.
She quickly ducked her head to conceal the blush that flamed her face. She crossed the space and began reaching into the larder for supplies to make breakfast. Several brown and speckled eggs rested on a high shelf. She reached up for one at the same moment the front door slammed off the inner wall.
Jerking her hand, she knocked two eggs off. They plummeted to the floor and smashed, oozing into a puddle by her feet.
"Jenkins, you're a might forceful this morning,” her father noted.
She didn't turn but found a cloth and began to clean the egg mess.
"Been up since the wee hours of the night,” Jenkins said. The strangeness of his voice made her pivot, only to find his gaze piercing her.
Swiftly, she returned to her task. Her mind raced. Had the man seen her with Graham? Discovered his tracks through the high grass that led to his horse, which had been left to graze?
She straightened her back. That was the inexperienced woman in her worrying. She'd promised herself to Graham Hollis, and she was going to marry him. It didn't matter if the whole county had witnessed her act of passion last night. Within hours, she'd be Graham's wife.
Dropping the soiled cloth into the washbasin, she strode for the door. “I'll just fetch more eggs."
"I'll see to the horses,” Jenkins said, following her outside.
She increased her pace, aware of him on her heels.
"Miss Allen, if I might have a word."
"Whatever it is you need to say can be said as I walk to the henhouse.” Her lungs burned with the urge to scream. All of a sudden, his overbearing presence weighed her down, frightened her when it never had before. Jenkins had been working for her father for months, had taken three square meals a day with the Allens, and never been anything but respectful.
But the tone of his voice set off bells in her head. The cold dew wet the hem of her dress and chilled her feet, but the frigid block of ice in her belly was her true concern.
Jenkins lashed his fingers around her forearm as she reached to open the door of the henhouse. Whipping her around to him, he thrust his face close to hers.
"Release me at once before I call my father!"
His eyes glittered, dark with the blood of his Mexican relatives. “Tell him what? That you've been out all night with a man?"
The ice in her belly melted and flowed away into her veins. She locked her muscles. “Your accusations are unfounded."
His breath fanned her face, and she twisted from its sour smell. “You call a bed tamped down in the grass and virgin blood spilled unfounded?"
Tremors took up residence in her core. But anger flared to life. “What right do you have to speak to me this way? You're nothing more than a hired hand. Not my father!"
"No, but I knew your brother, and he wouldn't want to see his sister prancing around some man like a mare in heat!"
She lifted her hand and slapped him full in the face. The crack resounded in the still morning air, and a chicken squawked in answer. Kathleen's breath plumed outward like a poison. “Do not speak to me that way. I will have your position terminated, Mr. Jenkins. Now mind your own business and tend to the horses. Not to me."
His glossy, dark hair tumbled into his eye. He released her arm and knuckled the lock away, stretching his jaw around the sting of her slap. “I've invested more in this farm than you can know."
"You are a hired man,” she reminded him. Then, giving him one last glare, she dodged into the henhouse. She shut the narrow door and leaned against it, gasping for breath. The smell of hay and chicken droppings filled her nose, comforting her slightly.
She swiftly ran through the conversation with Jenkins. In all the time he'd worked for her father, Jenkins had never overstepped the boundaries, never attempted to insinuate himself into the Allen family.
So he had found the spot where she and Graham had lain together. If he told her father, she'd admit it. She could go to her pa and tell him she was marrying Graham, and he'd whoop for joy. He'd been pressing her to take interest in marriage, had even encouraged the correspondence between her and her cousin.
The only thing that stopped her from sharing her joyous news with her pa was Graham's wishes. He'd asked her not to tell yet but to steal away with him and make it a done deal first.
Did he believe her pa wouldn't be thrilled to call the Hollises kin? The Hollis clan was large and influential in these parts. No one would dare mess with a Hollis. Such a link would only make her father happy.
In her mind's eye, she again saw Graham's face as he'd related the tale of his lost wife. Pain had creased his brow, and he'd looked like a man in the pit of a fiery hell with no rope at hand to climb out.
Kathleen was sensible enough to know she couldn't heal his wounds, nor could she replace the woman who had been his wife. But Graham had still chosen Kathleen. He'd called her beautiful, a delight in bed, a good woman who could fill a hole in his life he hadn't known could be filled.
Some of her fear ebbed away, and she was able to draw a deep breath. As she created a basket from the cloth of her skirt and began filling it with eggs, her mind wandered to the night ahead. Graham had instructed her to wear her finest because he was taking her to the preacher for a moonlit wedding.
The Hollis ranch stretched across miles of lush country. The sun touched the tips of the grasses in the fields and turned them to gold—gold their horses would eat in order to grow into the fine stock the Hollises were known for.
In the valley, Uncle Frederick's house sprawled. The light of a lantern glowed in the barn where Graham's cousins would be tending to the horses. Graham's stock horse turned his head automatically for this homestead, but Graham turned Old Gray and spurred him on up the ridge toward his own home.
The sky above was still white with predawn light, but the crescent of the sun bulged over the horizon, spreading yellow fingers across the turf, right up to the door of the white clapboard house.
He was entering this house for the last time as a bachelor. Tonight he'd be wed, but would he ever bring his bride here? He had no intention of letting anyone know about the wedding until he was positive no one could harm Kathleen.
His plan was to marry her and keep it secret, stealing away nightly to meet her. During his waking hours, he'd comb the countryside and neutralize any threats, including those from Wabash. Word of killings on the county roads was growing more frequent, and some said only a stealthy bastard could have sneaked up on unsuspecting men in this land. If Graham knew anything, it was what Wabash was capable of. He'd made a lot of enemies during the war. Suddenly, every ghost from his soldiering life rose up to haunt him. Paranoia aside, it was entirely possible more men would return with vengeance on their minds.
No, he wasn't going to take any chances.
As Graham rode into the yard, the front door opened, and his brothers spilled onto the porch. Nolan, the taller of the two, stretched his arms overhead, resting his fingertips on the beam of the front porch.
A smile cut across Clay's face. The youngest of the three boys, Clay was a spitting image of Graham ten years ago.
Before the war and hardships had cut out Graham's spirit.
For better or worse, he'd gained a portion of it back, if he could only deal with the repercussions.
"Look what Old Gray's dragged back with him, Nolan. A dirty sack of clothes. Looks like you've been sleeping rough, man.” Clay stepped off the porch into the dirt yard as Graham drew his mustang to a halt and dismounted.
He leveled his stare at his youngest brother, daring him to make a guess at where he'd been all night and why he hadn't returned home. Clay was forever running his mouth, getting himself in trouble. He took after their cousin Peter in that respect. Except Peter spent a little too much time at the saloon and stumbling home foxed. Sometimes with lipstick on his face, sometimes sporting a black eye after brawling with a drunk over a saloon girl.
Graham grabbed Old Gray's bridle and led him to the stable. It was no shock that his brothers’ footsteps sounded behind him.
"Where were you?” Clay asked.
"Took a ride.” He tucked up Old Gray in his stall and worked quickly to remove the tack and rub him down. Then he tipped a bucketful of bran in for him as a treat.
"A midnight ride?"
Graham swung toward his younger brother, surprised he'd add to the barrage of questioning. Nolan was the quietest among them.
"The war isn't eatin’ at you again, is it, Graham?” Clay, as usual, dug his words directly into the most wounded part of Graham's soul.
A teeth-jolting growl burst from him. “You two need more work. You obviously have too much time, sitting around thinking about my life. Maybe you need to go get one of your own."
He strode outside. Of all the mornings to bring up the war, this was the worst. Did they sense Graham's heavy thoughts? While he was jubilant about the prospect of joining himself to the bold little woman from the neighboring farm, he was stricken with fear. Had his urges placed him in a bad predicament again? Perhaps he should have never kissed her, never let her wriggle under his skin and into his psyche. It was just lust, after all.
Even as he thought this, he rejected it. Despite his hardened exterior, he'd always had a romantic streak. His brothers, cousins, and entire family knew it. Hell, the fact that he planned to secretly wed Kathleen wouldn't surprise the Hollises one bit. They'd expect nothing less from him.
"Fuck.” His utterance burst from him, and his brothers pounced on it.
They circled him. If he wasn't as roped with muscle as he was, he'd be damn intimidated by these men—broad and thick, with the light every Hollis man carried in his eye shining in theirs. The one that said,
Don't fuck with me. Get out of my way.
"Talk to us, bro.” Clay sent a playful punch into his shoulder.
"We'll find out sooner or later,” Nolan added.
Graham tugged his hat lower over his eyes. “That you will. When I'm damn good and ready to share.” With that, he employed his long legs, striding to the house before his brothers could wrench his confidences from him. He wasn't ready to share. He had to get his head in order.
Because saying aloud that he was about to marry a stunning creature who had in minutes buried her hooks in his soul was too frightening. And it might call down all the gods of bad luck who loved to personally fuck with him.
On silent feet, Kathleen stole from the house. She closed the door as quietly as possible, grimacing as the lock caught with a metallic
click
. The wind was kicking up, and hopefully the baleful sound and the shuddering of the glass in the window frames would drown out the fact that she'd sneaked out.
Her pa rarely awakened during the night—he could sleep through an Irish wake. But if he happened to rouse and find she was missing, the whole county would know about it. Though he'd led Graham right to her, her father would stomp his feet if she flaunted herself right under his nose.
She prayed Jenkins wasn't prowling around, ready to bring attention to her. That bastard had kept his distance the rest of the day. He hadn't even come inside for meals, much to her relief. She hoped he glutted himself on apples and suffered the consequences of that diet.
The figure that loomed out of the darkness stole her breath. She clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping as Graham moved toward her.
Shadows draped his big form, but she knew by the cut of his clothes that he'd dressed for the occasion, as she had. She gripped her boot strings tighter and skipped across the turf and into his arms.
He caught her up, filling her head with his musky scents. She gulped the air that hung around him like a woman who'd been starved for breath. God, she couldn't get close enough to him.
He curled around her, drawing her onto tiptoe, gripping her in a crushing hug. Her mind whirled and her body reacted instantly, nipples bunching and her sex pooling with moisture.