Read A Bride For Abel Greene Online
Authors: Cindy Gerard
A Bride For Abel Greene (9 page)
And he made her want to believe again, in the hopes and dreams she’d given up long ago as lost.
Feeling herself redden, she turned away.
Guilt nipped at her. This wasn’t about her. This was about Mark and what he needed.
Abel knew all there was to know now. She’d told him the whole story last night. She only wished she knew what he was going to do about it.
Last night he’d slipped quietly back into the cabin while she was still up in the loft. The door to his bedroom was closed when she’d come downstairs.
She’d thought of going to him there. To ask if he’d changed his mind. To risk the last of her pride if he hadn’t. When she’d realized she was motivated by her own needs as much as by Mark’s, she couldn’t do it. Instead she’d lain awake half the night wondering why a man who looked like him, who engendered the trust and friendship of people the quality of the Hazzards and Scarlett Morgan, needed to solicit a wife. And she wondered what he’d decided to do about the one he had for the taking.
He had his secrets, too, she was sure of it. He had his own set of sorrows and sins to deal with. It was unnerving that this intriguing paradox of fire and ice, strength and vulnerability could foster protective needs in her. And wanting.
Even more unsettling was the knowledge that he held their future in his hands.
It was an awesome concept. A monster disadvantage. And even though she knew she could still say the word and the deal would be off, she wasn’t even tempted to say it. Not now. Not now that she’d met him, not now that she’d kissed him and he’d made her feel alive like she’d never felt in her life.
She was so engrossed in those feelings that it took her a moment to realize he’d just said something critical.
She sat up straight in her chair. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said the winters here are hard and long.”
Her eyes arrowed to his, searching and alert, as she studied his savagely beautiful face. What she saw there reinforced the significance of his statement.
With reluctance he was telling her she could stay—and in the same breath warning her away.
Her heart thrummed with anticipation and relief.
“Your fire is warm and inviting,” she said softly, telling him she understood and was up to the challenge.
It didn’t appear to make him happy. “The springs and summers are too short.”
She worked to hide a small, triumphant smile. “I’ve had enough year-round California summers to last a lifetime.”
“I’ll be gone sometimes,” he countered, holding her unwavering gaze. “My work requires it. Not just at the logging site. I’ll have to go out of state occasionally—for materials, to tie up contracts.”
Give it your best shot, Abel Greene
, she challenged silently, basking in the light of her victory.
You’re not going to scare me off.
“A man has to work, or he’s not a man.”
, she challenged silently, basking in the light of her victory.
You’re not going to scare me off.
“A man has to work, or he’s not a man.”
He took a deep swallow of coffee. Stared at his hands. “It could be hard on you...this place. The isolation. Being alone.”
There was so much knowledge of the word
alone
in his voice,
she
felt the pain she knew he’d never admit to. She could only guess at the loneliness he must have felt in the course of his life. Her smile turned bittersweet as his gaze shifted toward the window.
alone
in his voice,
she
felt the pain she knew he’d never admit to. She could only guess at the loneliness he must have felt in the course of his life. Her smile turned bittersweet as his gaze shifted toward the window.
“I’ve been alone most of my life, too,” she said softly. “I expect this to be an improvement.”
She felt something then that she suspected he’d deny to the nth degree. A bond. They were worlds apart, yet in that moment she knew something of where he’d come from and likened it to where she’d been.
“You’ll get bored,” he said abruptly.
She couldn’t help it. She laughed when he stubbornly refused to give it up.
“Hardly.”
He drew another contemplative breath, frowned at his cup. “Mark will have to go to school.”
“Amen to that.”
“His problems are far from over. He’s still an angry, mixed-up kid.”
“But he’s on his way to healing. I have you and this place to thank for that.”
“Don’t,” he said so sharply she flinched. “Don’t put your stock there. I’m no role model. And I don’t want to be.”
“I think it’s too late,” she said carefully, puzzled by the sudden harshness of his words. “He wouldn’t admit it, but Mark already looks up to you.”
He slowly shook his head, a tight, cynic’s smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “You’re really good, green eyes.”
The ice in his tone chilled her.
“You did a real number on me last night. Pushed all the right buttons. But you’ve already got what you wanted...so don’t push any harder, okay?”
His eyes had grown hard, his mouth grim. “I accept the responsibility for your coming here. I understand that you can’t go back. For that reason, I won’t send you away. But don’t read more into my decision than is there. Starting with your skewed perception of my effect on your brother—” She hadn’t yet recovered from that blow, when he hit her hard and low with another. “—and ending with any notion you might have that there will ever be anything between us but a physical and a business relationship.”
Because he carried his own scars, Abel knew that not all wounds bleed. The devastation on her face was proof that he’d cut deep. She’d lost all color, all light from her eyes. He regretted causing her pain, but better now than later. He was guilty of a number of sins, but feeding her illusions wouldn’t be one of them.
He could not let himself get close to this woman. He couldn’t afford to. Wasn’t sure he could survive it.
Last night she’d brought him close—so close—to exposing the weakness he’d guarded the better part of his life: the wanting to let someone in.
He’d imagined himself opening that door to her—only to have her slam it in his face. Just thinking of the damage she could do had been enough to set his head back on straight. And now she knew where she stood.
Though it went against his better judgment, he would let her stay. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to let her leave, now that he knew her story. While he felt a legitimate concern that Grunewald might be a threat, L.A. was a bigger threat to her and Mark. And J.D. was right. Grunewald’s quarrel was with him, and if it did extend to Mackenzie and Mark, he’d make damn sure nothing happened to them.
“This is your last chance to back out,” he said. “If you stay, it will be as my wife. I’ll see to your needs and I’ll expect you to see to mine. But that’s as far as it goes. Are we clear?”
He endured the silent probe of her eyes. He knew she was looking for a sign...any sign that there was something more than cold, calculated reserve behind his blunt ultimatum.
“As crystal,” she finally said. “As my husband you’ll take care of me. As your wife I’m expected to take care of you...in bed.”
The defeat in her voice almost blew his defenses out of the water. He closed his eyes. Swallowed hard. Wanted, in that moment, to be more than he was, more of what she needed him to be. But it wasn’t that simple. Just like life wasn’t simple or sympathetic or even sane.
That was the crux of this entire miserable mess. There was nothing sane about wishing he could give her all the things a woman like her deserved. There was nothing sane about the way she’d reduced him to wanting.
And he did want her. He’d wanted her from the moment she’d vaulted onto his back, clawing and pecking at him like a mother bird protecting her young.
“It won’t be unpleasant for you.” That much he could give her. “But if you expect more, you’ll only be disappointed.”
She looked out the window. Gave a small resigned shake of her head. “I learned about unrealistic expectations a long time ago.”
When she faced him again, he saw that the fire was back in her eyes. So was the grit that had gotten her this far. But the soft light of hope was gone...and for that he was sorry.
He offered the only explanation he could. “It’s all I have to give. I’m sorry.”
Her chin raised a notch. “No need. And don’t wony. I made a bargain. I’ll stick to it.”
“It’s the wilderness, for pity’s sake,” J.D. groused, his voice rusty with sleep when Abel raised him on the radio a few minutes later. “You’d think a man could sleep in, in his own cabin, in his own bed, without the neighbors waking him up.”
“Call the preacher.”
Silence. Then “Huh?”
“Call him and find out when we can do the deed.”
Abel’s hands were sweating when he flipped off the switch.
It was done. Or it soon would be.
Bundled up in boots, a warm coat and the scarf and gloves she’d bought in town yesterday, Mackenzie slipped out of the cabin while J.D. and Abel and Mark and Casey moved Nashata and the puppies from the loft to the empty spare bedroom and Maggie and Scarlett fussed with details and decorations.
It was December the nineteenth.
Her wedding day.
She needed some time to herself before the ceremony, slated for three o’clock that afternoon.
It was early yet, a little after one, plenty of time to enjoy a few moments of this sparkling, beautiful day.
The sun was blade bright. The air was so crisp and clean it made her lungs burn. Evergreens, draped in their very best snow-laced gowns, crowded around the cabin in the woods like hovering guests, waiting for a glimpse of the bride and groom.
If she could chance believing in omens, this bright, sunny day would bode well for her future as Abel Greene’s wife...and the devil with what he’d said.
Buoyed by renewed hope and an optimist’s determinetion, she listened to the sound of the snow crunching under her feet, the call of a blue jay as it flitted from tree to snow-laden tree—to the inherent peace and pure, uninhabited silence of this winter wonderland.
This would be her home now. This would be the place where Mark would grow to manhood and where, quite possibly, she would raise children of her own.
A soft smile lifted her lips as she burrowed her chin deeper into the fur-lined collar of her coat. She liked the idea of children. As improbable as it seemed, she liked it a lot.
What also seemed impossible was that she was about to marry a man she’d known for a sum total of five days. Not only was she looking forward to sharing his bed, she was looking forward to sharing his life—even though he’d gone out of his way to point out that there would be no love in their relationship. Sex, yes. But never love.
She hadn’t come here expecting that, so his cold, harsh assessment of their life together shouldn’t have hurt her. But it had.
As she’d sat there two mornings ago, stunned by his bluntness, she’d realized she’d been lying to herself. In spite of all her posturing about being prepared to accept whatever he gave her, the reality was she wanted more. She’d always wanted more. Abel’s bluntness had sliced like a knife.
So at first she’d hurt for herself. She’d mourned what was not to be. Wallowed in missed opportunities and the loss of her romantic hopes. It wasn’t that she thought she loved him. It was that she wanted to and she’d hoped that he might want to care about her, too.
That morning in his kitchen he’d slammed the door on either possibility.
When she’d gotten past the disappointment, it had come to her that something wasn’t quite right with the picture he’d painted. He’d worked a little too hard to convince her he was uncaring, unfeeling and indifferent. She hadn’t been able to see it at first—she’d been too busy nursing her own wounds to realize that he was wounded, too. And he was protecting himself by shutting her out.
At length the true picture had fallen into place, and she’d realized what she was really up against. She’d finally understood why a man like him would resort to advertising for a bride, then lay out the ground rules like clauses in a contract.
It wasn’t that he was indifferent. It wasn’t that he was cold and calculating. A man without feelings wouldn’t have gone to such extremes to warn her away.
What Abel Greene was, she’d concluded after reading all the signs, was afraid. Afraid of commitment. Not because he couldn’t accept the responsibility. But because commitment required a large degree of trust. Trust required opening himself up to the possibility of getting hurt. And everything about this man—from his hard, hungry eyes, to his staunch, schooled denial—suggested he’d endured all the hurt he could handle in his life.
He was, by intent, a recluse. He was a man who entrusted his friendship to a select few. A lonesome man who had not yet accepted that it was all right for him to not want to be alone.
His interaction with Mark supported that conclusion. He understood Mark. She’d watched them together these last two days. The bond between them had grown as they cared for Nashata and the pups, chopped wood, took care of the horses or talked quietly of the lake and this land—the one thing Abel didn’t pretend to be indifferent to—and she was delighted to see Mark’s anger erode inch by inch.
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