Mara McBain (2 page)

“May I ask where we’re going?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“Home.”

Genevieve closed her eyes and counted to ten, and then just continued onto one hundred when her temper was nowhere near under control.

“We’re not married.”

“I’m aware. I can’t wait around all day. There’s work to do at home.”

“Is your bullheaded behavior why you aren’t married to a local girl?”

“Could be,” he drawled, slanting a look in her direction. “I take it the city boys didn’t care much for your smart mouth either?”

She was quiet a moment and then reluctantly shook her head. His long fingers drummed on the steering wheel. She fidgeted in her seat. Her gaze was glued to the massive, work roughened paws on the wheel. A backhand from one of those was likely to do more than bloody her lip. Her father was probably dancing a jig in hell right now.
Smug bastard.
They rode in silence. She didn’t have the guts to break it this time.

They left the main road and climbed a tree-lined drive. She leaned forward in the seat as a house and a handful of outbuildings came into view. Trey stopped in front of the two story fieldstone farmhouse and shut off the ignition. Genevieve’s eyes ran over the wraparound porch with the inviting swing. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d never pictured anything like this. Could this really be Trey’s home? He tossed an arm across the back of the seat and she flinched. His thick finger stroked her nape.

“We’ll get with the pastor tomorrow after you’ve got a good night’s sleep. It might be best this way. You’re overtired.”

“You’re still going to marry me?” she asked softly.

He chuckled, his hand curling around the back of her neck. Leaning across the seat, he

turned her face to him with a single finger of his other hand. Blue eyes locked with grey. His thumb ran across her lips, and she caught her breath. His mouth came down on hers in a long slow kiss that left her dazed. She blinked at him as he pulled back slowly. The rumble of his voice, as much as his words, sent a shiver through her.

“It’s going to take a lot more than a smart mouth to scare me off, darlin'.”

Following Trey up the front steps, his words played over in his mind. Her lips still tingled with the kiss. Nothing about this day had gone the way she had imagined it on the long train ride. He held the door open for her. She hesitated on the threshold. Gleaming hardwood stretched before her. After three years of living in a makeshift shack with a dirt floor, the sprawling, open beamed farmhouse looked like a mansion. She blinked as Trey flipped a switch and a lamp came on. She covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Trying to pull herself together, she stepped inside.

Her fingers trailed over the back of one of the burgundy and cream striped armchairs flanking the massive stone fireplace. Throw pillows of the same material decorated a large leather couch. The burgundy was also picked up in the room’s paint, giving the room a rich, elegant look while maintaining a masculine touch.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispered.

“My mama decorated it with knowledge of my particular tastes,” Trey said with a shrug. “Catherine thought it needed a woman’s touch, but she wasn’t here long enough to make that happen,” he said frowning at the thought of his late wife.

“Was this your family home?”

“It is the family farm. The original house is across the pasture here,” he motioned out the window, the frown lessening as he looked across the lush land. “You can see it when all the leaves are off. Cole will likely settle there when it’s time.”

“Cole?”she asked, peering into a kitchen that would have made her mother weep with joy.

“My younger brother.”

Genevieve looked up the heavy wooden staircase, her hand circling the ornate post at the base.

“Does your brother live here?”

“He does.”

She cringed at the defensive growl of his voice and turned with a smile.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“There are times I would consider you the lucky one.”

Genevieve laughed at his long suffering eye roll and his mercurial temper. She glanced back up the stairs.

“He’s staying at the other house tonight. This was supposed to be our wedding night,” Trey reminded her.

She blushed, shifting uncomfortably. She honestly hadn’t thought about her wedding night. While she wasn’t completely ignorant to the relationship between men and women, her knowledge was limited to whispered stories from her friend Adrienne. The exotic songbird drew men like bees to honey. Her mother had only imparted the bare basics. Like her father, her mother had anticipated spinsterhood for their daughter.

“I’ll show you to a guestroom for tonight. It’s early, but I’m sure you’re ready for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep after a long train ride.”

A hot bath sounded divine. Trey carried her shabby suitcase and new clothes up the stairs and showed her to a pretty room decorated in a pale grey and dark rose. It was more feminine than the décor she had seen so far. She couldn’t help pressing a palm into the mattress. The bed would be like sleeping on a cloud after a pallet of cardboard and newspapers.

“The bathroom is across the hall. You should find everything you need. There’s a robe on the back of the closet door there. Please make yourself at home. I’m going to go out and check on the stock, the hounds, and Cole.”

“In that order?” Genevieve asked with a little giggle. She bit her lip, eyes sparkling as he turned back from the door. A slow grin spread across his broad face. 

“Priorities, darlin'.

His words and drawling delivery drew a full-fledged laugh from her.

“Where do women fall on this priority list, Mr. McCade?”

“Some of them, pretty low, but I guess that would depend on what she was willing to do to ingratiate herself to me.”

There was that low bass again that made her flush and squirm. Gathering her courage, she took the couple of steps to him. Her hand trembled as she splayed it lightly on his powerful chest.

“I do want you to know that I am very grateful for the chance you took, are taking, on me. I may not be what you anticipated, but I will do whatever I can to be a good wife to you and help you around here. I’m not a soft society girl. I grew up working, and I’m not afraid of it,” she said, her slender shoulders straightening in pride.

He stared down at her, his face unreadable. His hand came up and she held her ground, waiting to see what he would do. She was surprised when he tucked a loose strand of her copper mane behind her ear.

“Patrick was wrong about you. This should be interesting,” he mumbled, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone.

She was speechless. What did he mean by that? Trey dropped a lazy wink and strode from the room. His boots thudded in retreat down the stairs, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. The front door closed and she was alone. Wrong about her how? What was going to be interesting, and was that good or bad? Her mind raced, replaying the conversation. Finally she shook her head and rubbed her throbbing temples. The man was a mystery. His moods changed like the wind and damned if she could keep up.

Taking a drink of his coffee, Trey pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time. Either his soon-to-be new bride was still overtired, or she wasn’t in a big hurry to marry him. The back door opened and Cole stopped on the threshold, a comical expression of surprise stamping his handsome features. He let out a low whistle.

“What’s with the banker clothes, big brother?”

“I’m hoping it’s my wedding day.”

“Yesterday was supposed to be your wedding day and you went into town in your work clothes. What changed?” Cole asked, bumping him aside at the counter to pour a cup of coffee. He leaned beside him and took a cautious sip as his older brother tucked his watch away.

“The bride.”

Cole sputtered into his coffee, laughter turning into a coughing fit that prompted Trey to pound him on the back.

“Jesus, stop helping,” he gasped, moving away from his older brother to grab a kitchen towel. “You said you brought her home from the train station.”

“I did bring her home.”

“Is this the same woman you wrote to or not?”

“It is, and it isn’t,” Trey said, his lips twisting in an ironic smile. “Let’s just say we have a little difference of opinion on the definition of
plain
.”   

The soft click of heels in the upstairs hallway made them both look up at the ceiling. Cole’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Is she that ugly?”

“Judge for yourself,” was Trey’s only answer as he pushed off the counter and left the kitchen, his cowboy boots thudding solid on the foyer’s polished floor.

Fingers trailing down the rail, she descended the steps carefully. She paused uncertainly when she spotted him. He stood there looking up, his coffee cup forgotten in his hand. Her hair was twisted up and secured in the back, gleaming in the light like a new penny. One of the dresses he’d bought her, a cream thing with white lace trim, skimmed her slender curves and fell a few inches beyond her knee leaving her delectable calves exposed to his gaze above simple heels. With a bath, a good night’s sleep, and new clothes, damn if she wasn’t even better looking. He shook his head.

“I should’ve known better than to trust a priest to judge a woman.”

The truck launched over a crowned intersection jostling its three passengers on the landing. Trey stole a look at Genevieve perched in the center between him and Cole. She stared straight ahead, her chin tilted up at a defiant angle and fingers biting into the seat to stay balanced. She hadn’t had much to say to him since the priest comment. It seemed his soon-to-be bride hadn’t seen the humor in the statement. She’d declined breakfast, choosing to head into town and get married as soon as possible. He turned his head to the side window and smiled. He couldn’t help wonder if the haste had to do with a fear he’d change his mind or she would.

Cole said something to Genevieve that he didn’t catch and she smiled. Trey’s brows drew together in a frown which he directed over the girl’s head at his younger brother. Cole ignored him, and he fought the urge to reach across the back of the seat and smack him in the head. Parking in front of the church, he stepped out and reached back in to help Genevieve from the vehicle. She chose to slide to Cole’s side and take his hand to step out. A low growl rumbled in Trey’s chest. Slamming the door, he walked around the front of the truck and shouldered Cole out of the way with a little more force than necessary. Taking Genevieve’s arm in a tight grip, he didn’t give her too much option in walking inside.

The large, gregarious pastor smiled when he spotted Trey and hurried down the aisle to greet them.

“Trey, it is so good to see you. This must be the young lady that you were telling me about. I’m so sorry I missed you yesterday,” he said, shaking Trey’s hand, then taking Genevieve’s and giving them a squeeze. “We’re so pleased to have you here, my dear.”

Shyly murmuring her thanks, Genevieve pressed a little closer to his side. Trey frowned. After the cold shoulder he had received on the drive in, her desire to be close to him seemed out of character. Perhaps it was a show of unity for the pastor’s sake. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Two could play that game. He wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders and hugged her to his side.

“Perhaps the delay was for the best. It gave us a chance to get to know one another a little more, and Gen the chance to rest and freshen up from her trip,” he said with a smile. His bride stiffened beside him. He wasn’t sure if it was the innuendo or the familiar shortening of her name. He barely held back a chuckle. He hoped it wasn’t the name. She might not like it, but Genevieve was a mouthful he wasn’t about to repeat on a daily basis.

“The good Lord works in mysterious ways,” the pastor said with a smile. “I see Cole has accompanied you as a witness. Genevieve, do you have a female witness? If not I could ask my daughter to stand with you. She is near your age.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid I don’t have any friends or family in Virginia.”

“That is about to change, my dear. The McCades are a fine family. It is too bad that you didn’t get the opportunity to meet Trey’s mother, Heather. She was a very special woman.”

“Trey speaks very highly of her,” Genevieve said softly.

Uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, Trey said, “Why don’t you see if your daughter is available, Pastor.” He watched the other man bustle off and turned his attention on Gen. She was pale and looked unsteady on her feet. “You should have eaten something this morning,” he grumbled. “Sit down before you fall down.”

“No I shouldn’t have. I’m fine.”

He frowned as she stepped away from him, rubbing her arms.

“You’re about to take a vow to obey. You might want to get some practice in.” 

Her wide grey eyes swung back to him, and he caught a tremble in her bottom lip. He tried to rein in his temper. The last thing he needed right now was waterworks. She stepped back when he reached for her. His jaw set.

“Come here.”

She hesitated, staring at his finger that pointed to a spot a foot in front of his boots. Her chest rose and fell in a flutter and she shot a glance toward the door.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m not going to hurt you. I told you to come here, and I’m not saying it again.”

“You’re scaring her,” Cole said.

Trey shot him a look that should’ve dropped and buried him. Gen was looking at Cole now, or possibly the door again.

“Gen.”

Her eyes darted back to him at the sound of her name. He stretched the pointing hand out palm up, meeting her part way. She took a shaky step and placed her hand palm down in his. He backed up slowly, tugging her with him. Sitting down in the front pew, he pulled her to sit on his knee.

“All swagger aside, darlin', we’re both about to make vows that I take seriously and you better as well. In the letters we wrote, we both made promises. I keep my word. When we walk out of here you will be my wife. If that’s not what you want, say the word now and I’ll put you back on the train,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

Her long slender fingers laced with his. Her hand was still shaking, but she held tight. A dusting of freckles stood out across the bridge of her pert nose, but her expression was determined. It was all the answer he needed. He nodded, and she nodded back at him. He smiled as the pastor returned with his wife and daughter and nudged Gen to her feet. She didn’t let go of his hand.

The sun was going down as they headed home. Cole had chosen to ride in the back, but Gen still sat in the middle, her hand on his thigh. After the ceremony they had shared a light lunch with the pastor’s family and then knowing there were a lot of daylight hours left, he’d treated her to a movie. It was an extravagance he rarely indulged in these days, but the delight on her face had been more than worth it. The stares hadn’t been as welcome, but he had learned to ignore them. They had finished the day with another nice dinner, though Gen had eaten little of hers.

He parked the truck near the house and shut off the ignition. Cole leapt from the back and disappeared toward the barn. Trey looked down at his new wife. She was fussing with the crease in his pant leg and seemed reluctant to meet his gaze.

“I’m going to help Cole with the animals and make sure everything is done for the night, and then I will be in.” 

She nodded but still didn’t look up. He got out of the truck and reached back in to help her out. Setting her on her feet in front of him, he used the tip of his finger to raise her chin.

“Are you okay?”

She blushed, but smiled and nodded.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking about the day. I don’t want to forget a moment of it. Adrienne will want to hear every detail when I write to her.”

“Who is Adrienne?”

“She was my friend back in New York. She’s a performer. She sings like an angel and dances, well…not so much like an angel,” Gen said with a naughty little giggle.

The comment broke the tension that had started to creep back between them and Trey laughed.

“She sounds like a good friend.”

“She is. There were times she was the difference between me starving and not.”

“That’s something you won’t need to worry about again.”

She tilted her face into his palm as he stroked her cheek. He didn’t want to see that sadness touch her eyes again. Draping his suit jacket around her shoulders, he leaned down and gave her a long slow kiss. When he straightened, she stumbled forward, catching herself against his chest. She blushed but giggled again. He smiled down at her.

“Why don’t you go ahead into the house and get comfortable for the evening. I’ll be in soon.”

Genevieve’s fingers trailed over a beautiful silver brush and mirror set sitting among a variety of makeup and perfumes. The mirrored dressing table in the corner was lovely and the only feminine touch in the master bedroom. Had he purchased it for Catherine? She bit her lip. She’d been understandably reluctant to ask Father Patrick painful questions about his sister. What had she been like? Had she been demur as well as beautiful, the perfect wife? The Father had stressed that Trey wasn’t looking for love or beauty, and Trey’s words at the train station confirmed at least the second part. Perhaps no woman would ever compare to Catherine in Trey’s eyes. It made sense.

Gooseflesh broke out over her pale skin, and she hugged herself as she studied her reflection. The calf-length slip of satin and lace that Trey had chosen wasn’t designed to keep her warm at night. A smile curved her lips as she considered crawling into his bed and pulling the covers up to her chin like some Victorian flower. As amusing and attractive as sliding under the blankets sounded at the moment, she was too wired up to sit still.

Picking up a soft afghan blanket from the footboard, she wrapped it around her shoulders and stepped to the window. She remembered the body heat his jacket had held when he’d draped it over her shoulders in the drive. It had radiated from him as she’d sat close in the truck. Maybe she wouldn’t need flannel to keep her warm at night.

She leaned the side of her head against the window casing. She was a twenty-year-old woman, not some wide-eyed innocent. Growing up in the tiny apartment above the bakery she had heard her parents have sex. Her poor mother had suffered two miscarriages that Genevieve remembered, but they had continued to try for a blessed boy. Sometimes she had heard muffled whimpers over her father’s grunts and the low sobs afterward, but her mother had never complained. When she’d worked up the courage to ask, her mother had quietly told her that it was a wife’s place to submit to her husband and that had been the end of the conversation. Genevieve hadn’t been too sure of the sentiment at the time, and she was no surer now. She shook her head. These thoughts weren’t helping the butterflies in her stomach.

She spun at a noise behind her. Trey stood in the doorway watching her. Her heart thudded painfully. How had she not heard him coming? The room which had seemed spacious before was suddenly close. He filled the doorframe blocking any thought of escape. She could feel heat creep into her cheeks as his intense stare slowly trailed over her. A chill worked up her spine like walking fingers. He moved into the room, and she was taken once again with how light on his feet he was for his hulking size.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from him as he stripped off his tie and turned his fingers to the buttons. Her mouth went dry, and the butterflies in her belly seemed more like dragons as the shirt slid off his wide shoulders and down biceps as thick as her waist. A pale smattering of hair marked his barrel chest, and another trail vertically dissected his solid core, traveling down to circle his navel and disappear behind his belt buckle. There was something comforting as well as terrifying about his natural bulk. This was a man that didn’t know hunger.

He toed off his socks, and his hands settled on his belt. She shivered in a heady mixture of fear, anticipation, and curiosity. He paused, his pale eyes on her. She flinched as he reached over and took the afghan from around her. She could feel her nipples stiffen at the sudden chill and his gaze seemed drawn to the hard nubs tenting the pale satin nightgown. He reached for her and her back hit the wall as she stepped back. She drew in a sharp breath as his large hands engulfed her breasts. His touch felt scalding in the cool room. His thumbs strummed across her hard nipples like the strings of a banjo, and her knees felt weak. A strangled sound, equal parts pleasure and mortification, escaped her throat. She nearly fell when he stepped back.

“You’re cold. Get in bed,” he rumbled.

When she didn’t move, he reached out and pulled back the covers before nudging her toward the bed. She stumbled, but managed to crawl awkwardly across the mattress and pull the blankets up to clutch at her breast just like the silly Victorian girl she had snickered about earlier. Her hands were shaking like a leaf. She watched the light grey pinstriped pants slide down his powerful legs. She swallowed hard at the tent of his drawers. Her eyes jerked back up to his chest, and her brain was suddenly morbidly fascinated with the math. Trey was eight to ten inches taller than her father. While in considerably better shape, she’d still say he outweighed the portly older man by thirty pounds. At a foot taller than she was, that weight difference was about half. Anyway she stacked the numbers, this was going to hurt.