Gerrity'S Bride (17 page)

“Oh...” The word was a surprised whisper as he drew her into the circle of his arms and bent to nuzzle at her throat.

“Will this pay the debt?” she asked, gripping his shoulders and leaning into his long frame.

“Nope,” he stated firmly. “It’ll take a long time to pay me off, Em. Years and years and years...”

“W
hat do you think, Emmaline?” Matt whispered the words in her ear just as she felt the warmth of his arms enclose her, and she was thankful for the shadowed corner shielding them. His hands slid about her waist and met, clasping her close against the hard length of his body.

“I think I’ve never seen such a big cow in my life,” she said as she watched the enormous spit revolve over the open firepit. She leaned back against him, nestling her head beneath his chin.

“It’s not a cow, Emmaline. It’s a steer,” he explained patiently, suppressing the chuckle he knew would rile her.

She waved her hand in an imperious gesture. “They’re all cows, as far as I can see, Matt. I just hope there’s enough there to feed all these people.”

He bent his head to drop a kiss against the nape of her neck, nudging her head forward to give himself access. She’d done her hair up in a twisty sort of sunburst on top, and he’d watched as she poked the final pin in place. Now, appreciating the vulnerable curve of her neck and tasting the sweet scent of her skin, he decided that being married had some definite benefits.

“Can I take out these pins after a while, Emmie?” His breath was warm against her ear.

She shivered at the intimacy and released a low, unsteady laugh. “Stop, Matt,” she whispered, tugging at his hands where they pressed firmly against her midriff. “Everyone will be watching us.”

He glanced about, his mind still intent on the woman whose warmth was nestled against his own needy flesh.
Needy...
the one word that summed up his condition these days.

“It’s a good thing our company can’t get a good look at me right now, Em,” he murmured beneath his breath. “It’s probably a good thing they’re more interested in givin’ my bride the once-over.”

She breathed deeply and pried away his fingers. He chuckled at her attempt and tightened his hold, his hands clasping her waist. “Matthew Gerrity! Just quit that!” she said tightly, attempting at the same time to nod a greeting to the Reverend Josiah Tanner, who was approaching with his wife.

“That’s all right, they know we’re newlyweds,” he answered in a teasing undertone, unwilling to give up his advantage. “This is our party, Emmaline. These people expect us to cuddle a little bit.”

Her groan was almost inaudible, swallowed as it was by the greeting she spoke to the parson.

“We’re so pleased you could come,” she said politely, too aware of the long, lean form of Matt Gerrity plastered against her back.

“It’s a fine party, ma’am. Accept our best wishes, won’t you?” He leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. “I’m just pleased to have been in on the beginning of this marriage. I’ll admit I had my doubts, what with all the to-do in town that day, but I’m certain that your daddy would be most pleased to see you back home, Miss Emmaline.”

“This is where she belongs, all right,” Matt put in firmly. “Why don’t you folks grab yourselves a plate and try some of that beef we’ve been cookin’ all day?” He nodded at the open pit that yawned near the barn. Glowing embers sent heat radiating in visible waves to the turning spit above, the barbecued beef emitting a savory scent that enticed the hungry crowd.

“Don’t mind if we do,” Josiah Tanner answered, ushering his wife to join the group.

“Are you hungry, too, Emmaline?” Matt’s whisper was soft against her ear. “We could get a couple of plates and park under that big tree over there and watch the folks havin’ a good time.”

“Later,” she said, relaxing for just a moment against him. “Listen, the violins and piano are tuning up.”

“Fiddles, Emmaline. They’re fiddles.” He squeezed her a bit, shaking his head as he corrected her. “They’re gettin’ ready to play for dancin’. Before you know it, that floor will be full of foot-stompin’ ranch hands.”

“Matt, I want you to—” Emmaline’s good intentions flew to the four winds as she narrowed her eyes in dismay.

“I didn’t know you’d invited your old sweetheart,” she snapped coldly, nodding at the man and woman who were walking across the wide expanse of the yard.

Matt’s arms were firm about her, and she tried in vain to ease away from him unobtrusively, but to no avail.

“Let go of me.” She gritted the words out between her teeth, determined to dislodge the embrace she thought smacked too much of ownership.

Stepping to her side, his long arm still around her, he tugged her into place against his hip. “Don’t fuss, Emmaline. Just look like a happy bride and greet your guests.”

The wooden smile she forced into place masked the whispered words she hissed in his direction as she looked up at him with a semblance of coyness. “Did you have to invite her?”

“She’s a neighbor.” His eyes met hers in a narrowed warning. “Now be polite.”

“Is this my polite look?” she asked, her jaw clenched, her eyelashes fluttering in his direction.

“Behave, Emmaline, or I’m gonna get downright aggravated!”

“Threats, Matthew Gerrity?” she asked sweetly, her voice a mere whisper against his cheek as she stood on tiptoe to deliver her query.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and his hand clenched tighter against her waist. “Just you wait till I get you alone.”

“Why, look who’s here! The bride and groom, all cuddled up in the corner.” Clyde Hopkins stepped before them, hat in hand, Deborah on his arm. Jovial and red-faced, he swept them a bow and then placed his broad-brimmed hat back in place, his chill gaze belying the warmth of his greeting.

“Afraid he’ll get away?” Deborah asked brightly, tossing her head in Emmaline’s direction. With a practiced flicker of her lashes and a pouting gesture of pleading, she lifted one hand to Matt’s cheek, running her fingertips down the hard line of his jaw.

“Surely you can let him loose long enough to have a dance with an old friend,” she said sweetly, her eyes flashing a sidelong glance toward Emmaline’s frozen countenance.

“I’m sure Matthew isn’t glued to me, are you, dear?” Somehow the words emerged with just a touch of mockery, and somehow Emmaline managed to widen her smile as she met his eyes. They were crinkled at the corners, and his amusement was apparent.

“The music hasn’t started yet, Deborah. They’re just gettin’ tuned up,” Matt pointed out dryly, his hand snaking up to clasp her wrist and drag the offending fingers away from his face, even as his attention clung unwaveringly to his bride.

“Well, you shouldn’t be hiding your bride here in the corner.” Deborah was clearly irate about the attention he denied her. “Let her go meet her neighbors, Matthew. We can get the dancing started.”

Reluctantly his eyes left Emmaline’s face, and the warmth that had kindled his gaze disappeared, leaving a dispassionate chill in its place. “Doggone if I haven’t promised the first dance to my bride,” Matt drawled with deliberation. “Sorry I can’t accommodate you, Deb. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of ranch hands flockin’ around when the music starts.”

Emmaline watched silently from within the circle of Matt’s arm as Deborah gave him a last glance. Then, as if conceding a temporary defeat, the young woman tossed her head and walked away to join a group just within the barn.

“You could have danced with her, you know,” Emmaline said softly. Matt looked down at her with a trace of skepticism. “Could I, now?” he asked. At her nod, he laughed aloud. “T’ tell the truth, Em, I’d rather do the askin’.” He bent his head in a gentlemanly gesture and released his hold on her waist, stepping before her to offer his hand.

“Is this a waltz?” she asked in an undertone. “It seems awfully fast, but the tempo is right.”

Matt grinned, swinging her about, his hands at her waist as he kept time with his toe to the beat of the music. “I don’t know what you call it, honey. We just dance to it,” he said, sweeping her out onto the wooden floor. “You’ll do fine, Em,” he murmured against her ear, bending to plant a damp kiss on the tender skin at her temple. Sawdust, scattered across the wide boards, made the floor slippery beneath them, and he held her close as he caught the rhythm.

His feet moved rapidly, and she sensed the timing of his steps, joining him in the quick rotation as he danced the traditional box step of the waltz. Within seconds her skirts flew about her legs as they set a fast pace about the floor, their dancing accompanied by the clapping cadence of the watching neighbors and townsfolk, more of whom swarmed into the barn, encouraging the newlyweds as they made their way the length of the barn.

Down to the end of the long aisle, past the empty, whitewashed box stalls, to where the musicians played in double time, they danced, Emmaline’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling as she kept up with his twisting and twirling steps. About them, couples joined in and the barn rang with laughter and the sound of hard boots and sliding slippers across the slippery floor.

He swept her closer, and her hands crept from their position on his shoulders to twine about his neck as she melded her slender form against his firmness. And for the space of several magical moments, they were caught up in the music, the intimacy of the dance, the careless, carefree pleasure afforded them.

“I feel like a real bride,” she managed to say, her voice little more than a whisper. She was breathless, her eyes sparkling, as they swung once more past the doors.

“Dancing does that?” One eyebrow lifted as he grinned into her rosy countenance. “Here I thought I’d been making you feel like a bride for a couple of weeks already.”

She scowled at him, but the pretense was too difficult to maintain. Her pleasure in the music, the friendly faces that watched them and the man who held her would not allow the sham of indignation.

“I’m out of breath,” she declared as the music finished with a final flourish of sound. The fiddlers’ bows extended skyward as they bowed, accepting the applause of the dancers. The piano player spun on his stool to wave at the crowd that gathered close at hand to call out requests for favorite tunes.

Matt drew her toward the doorway, and they stepped out onto the hard-packed dirt. Another buggy pulled under the trees across the way, and a stout man climbed down, only to reach up and lift down his equally sturdy companion.

“That’s Otto Schmidt and his missus. He runs the livery stable in town,” Matt told her, in a low voice that carried only as far as Emmaline’s ear.

Hand extended, the older man approached, wife in tow. “We’re in time for dinner, I see, Matthew. I told Hilda you’d be barbecuing a steer for the occasion.” His head nodded with emphasis as he spoke, his wide smile exposing the gleam of a gold tooth near the front of his mouth. Beside him, Hilda Schmidt beamed her best wishes silently, nodding almost in unison with her husband.

Emmaline smiled, unable to restrain her pleasure at their open enjoyment of the occasion. “We’re so glad you came. I’m Emmaline.”

Hilda Schmidt nodded vigorously. “I figured as much. I was in the emporium the day Matthew bought you that dress. Did he tell you that the ladies’ sewing circle is making you a quilt?”

“No...” Emmaline answered distractedly, looking back over her shoulder at Matt, who was being hauled in the other direction by Mr. Schmidt, to where a circle of ranchers was gathering about the tailgate of a wagon.

“Just leave them be,” Hilda said, clucking her tongue at Emmaline’s look of bewilderment. “The men have to have their snort from old Tyler Mason’s jug before the party gets to going good, you know. Matthew’ll be lookin’ you up in no time.”

“My, doesn’t that look good!” Hilda clutched at Emmaline’s hand, drawing her to where white-aproned men were doling out generous servings of barbecued beef. “Have you tried any yet, Emmaline?”

“Here’s an empty plate for you, Mrs. Gerrity,” a nearby woman called out.

“That’s Ruth Guismann,” Hilda said in an undertone. “Her husband owns the store in town, and she’s the one who picked out all the fancy things Matthew got for your wedding.”

Emmaline blushed, imagining the scene. “Who else was there?”

“Oh, my, half the ladies in town were in the store that morning. We just had the best time, watching him get all flustered while he tried to choose things for you.”

Emmaline groaned, imagining Matt surrounded by these women while he did his shopping. They’d all seen the lacy underthings she wore even now.

“Here you go, here’s your plate. Now you just step right up there and try some of your husband’s prime beef,” said the woman at her elbow, ushering her forward to be served.

“Thank you...Mrs. Guismann, wasn’t it?” Emmaline asked as she accepted the plate and held it in readiness. Within seconds, two slices of steaming meat centered it and she was pressed in the direction of the serving table.

“Land sakes, girl, you just call me Ruth, like everyone else does.” Her face beaming with humor, the shopkeeper’s wife ushered a bemused Emmaline before her, spooning generous servings to surround the beef.

“Havin’ a good time, Miss Emmaline?” Across the table, Claude, drafted for the day by Maria and resplendent in his own white apron, beamed at her. Carrying a platter of fried chicken, he searched for a bare spot to place it.

“It’s wonderful, Claude,” she complimented, glancing about at the women who gathered about her as if they would take her to their collective bosoms.

And wonderful it was, she decided a short while later, when she had somehow escaped and found herself beneath a tree, plate laden high with salads and meat and topped with an irregularly shaped slab of bread, generously slathered with butter by some helpful soul. Beside her, Tessie bounced on her heels as she squatted for a moment, a chicken leg clutched in her fingers and eyes glistening with excitement.

“Oh, Emmie, isn’t it the most fun ever? Did you see the man playing the piano? His fingers just fly so fast, you can hardly see them,” Tessie breathed, eyes wide with wonder.

“Don’t you need a plate for your chicken, Theresa?” Her tone faintly admonishing, a plate of her own in hand, Olivia approached.

“Won’t you join us, Olivia?” Emmaline asked, patting the quilt beside her.

Tessie’s eyes lost a bit of their sparkle. “I didn’t think I had to use all my manners today, Miss Olivia,” she said carefully. “This is a picnic.”