Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (8 page)

“She’s not dead. She’s just…gone.”

Slender black eyebrows pinched inward. “Gone where?”

“Back to Texas.”

“She left you?”

Her shocked expression nearly made up for the pinch in his pride. “She did.”

“Were you…mean to her?”

“Do I strike you as man who’d mistreat his wife?”

“Well…no. But people aren’t always what they seem.”

He couldn’t argue that. Amanda Billings certainly seemed to embody everything he’d imagined a perfect wife would be, and not the sort of woman a man bedded before he married. Problem was, outside of the bedroom they hadn’t had a whole lot to say to one another. Didn’t help that her lady attendant had run off with one of his ranch hands a few weeks after they’d married, leaving her on a ranch full of men with only her cook and housekeeper for company during the day. Good God, but he didn’t know a woman could shed so many tears. He’d flat run out of ways to console her.

“Maybe it was cruel to expect Amanda to find happiness with me on a ranch in the middle of Wyoming wilderness. I sure couldn’t keep her happy and she hated living in Wyoming.”

“Then why did she marry a Wyoming rancher?”

“Same reason I married a Southern belle from Texas. We
didn’t know any better.” His experience with fancy women likely matched Amanda’s experience with dusty cowpokes. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his sister cry—one of those times being the day he had announced his engagement. Her disapproval of his marriage had been like salt on a festering wound. He still hadn’t told her about the divorce—he hadn’t told anyone.

“Did you like being married to a Southern belle from Texas?”

“I didn’t mind it, but we weren’t well suited. She’d been raised to shine in polite society, schooled in proper etiquette and polite conversation. Her skills were wasted on me and I couldn’t give her the amount of attention she needed. When most of my stock was dead or dying I was too busy to think of much else—and Amanda was too busy packing her bags to care.”

“Eighty-seven was a hard winter and an even harder spring.”

It had been sheer hell, which Amanda hadn’t wanted any part of. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

“Seems like that would be a time when having a wife around would be useful,” Grace said, turning back to her task.

“I’ll be honest with you. When she told me she was going home, I was mostly relieved.” It had been a wonder to him that he could share his bed with a woman and feel so utterly alone. “It’s a hard thing to be responsible for a woman’s unhappiness.”

“I don’t know that most men worry about their wives’ happiness.”

Considering Grace’s situation, he could understand why she’d think as much. “Those men must not have had sisters.”

Maggie glanced up, ready to protest that comment. She knew for certain having a sister didn’t stoke a man’s compassion toward women. The sheer misery in Garret’s expression stalled her words. Sister or not, he’d been hurt by his wife’s displeasure.

“Your wife wasn’t the only one spooked by such a harsh
winter,” she said. “Plenty of folks packed up and moved on after the thaw. Maybe she’ll come back now that grasses have returned.”

His slanted grin surprised her, and had her hoping his Southern belle of a wife had gotten lost in Texas.

“You want to know a secret?” he asked, leaning toward her.

“No.”
Just sitting beside him was far more personal than anything she’d experienced in a good long while—other than the kisses he hadn’t meant to give her.

The reminder stung.

“I suppose it’s not really a secret,” he said. “I figure most folks know she’s not coming back. But the truth of it is, Amanda and I were divorced last spring.”

“What does that mean?”

“We were legally unmarried.”

Unmarried?
What woman in her right man would want to unmarry Garret? The man was capable, clean, dreadfully good-looking and his kisses weren’t something a woman would dread.

“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” she admitted.

“Me, neither. Guess there isn’t anything left in this world a lawyer can’t undo. I don’t suppose you want to tell me what happened to your husband?”

“You’d be correct on that account.” She couldn’t rightly call Ira her husband, but she knew most folks assumed he had been. Not that she minded. Ira had been a good man. On the rare days he had bathed, she wouldn’t have minded if he’d been her man. She’d even asked him on more than one occasion. Close to seventeen years of age, she’d started noticing the babies with their mothers when they’d traded with a local tribe. Over the next few years she’d been consumed by a powerful longing for a child, a little life all of her own to care for and keep her company.

Ira had been furious the first night she’d asked him to give
her a baby. She couldn’t see why he shouldn’t give her one, unless he was too old. That question had set off his temper right quick. He’d stormed off swearing a blue streak and shouting that he wouldn’t be back.

But he’d come back weeks later with piles of hides for tanning and supplies he knew she’d need. She hadn’t given up on her request, but his answer was always the same, that she didn’t know what she asked of him, and there should be something more than friendship between a woman and a man to be making babies. The moment he started suggesting she search out a brave or a white man she stopped listening. Wasn’t anyone she’d trust to be near her and he knew it. She’d been mad that he’d deny her the one thing she’d truly wanted. Not until his death did she know he shared her disappointment.

She’d skinned out the bear that mauled him. She’d heard the skirmish. By the time she’d reached Ira he’d killed the bear and was covered in rivers of red. She’d never seen so much blood. She’d been frantic to stop the bleeding and all the man could talk about was her. He’d likely spoken more words to her in those horrifying moments than in the seven years they’d been together. But it was his last words that haunted her.

I’m sorry, Maggie. You’d have been a good mother.

It was the only time she’d known him to be wrong. Over the years she’d realized her yearning for a baby had been the selfish dreams of a child. It wasn’t that Ira hadn’t cared for her—she knew he had. He hadn’t wanted to tell her the plain truth; no child deserved to have Mad Mag as a mother.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Garret’s voice startled her from her thoughts.

“No matter who he is, I won’t think any less of you, Grace.”

Yes, he would.
How could he not? It was the nature of folks to shun what wasn’t familiar to them.

“Do you think he’s coming back?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Then you’ve got no reason to stay up here. Crafty as you are with a needle, you could find work in any town. I bet you’d be a real star at one of them lady sewing parties.”

There wasn’t a lady within a hundred miles who’d sew with the likes of her.

“You can’t be much over twenty. Hardly an old maid.”

Was he blind? So she’d brushed her hair and put on a flowery shirt…she was still a wild woman in britches and well past the age of courting. There wasn’t a town that would accept her, old maid or otherwise. Which suited her fine. “I’m well beyond twenty and have been choosing my own way since long before you were dressing yourself.”

His expression darkened. “That’s rot. You’re young enough that you could remarry and have a family.”

He didn’t know the first thing about her or her failures as a woman. Her daddy had insisted she learn the
delicate arts of a lady,
but she’d since learned that it didn’t take a delicate lady to stitch pretty flowers. Her life before Ira had been a
lie.
He’d taught her to depend on no one but herself. She didn’t sit around and bellyache over her lot in life. She made an honest living. She worked hard.

“I think you’d find—”

“I think you should
shut the hell up!
” Her voice shouted back at her from the stone ceiling and startled Boots from his sleep. “What makes you think I give two wits about what you or anyone else thinks of me?”

The caution in his expression made her wish she could suck her defensive words back into her mouth. “You’re right. I was prying. I apologize.”

Heat stung her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have sworn at you.” He couldn’t know how his foolish suggestions had hurt her. There wasn’t a man who’d want her and she’d long since let go of her yearning for a child.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me, Grace. Wasn’t my
place to make assumptions about your life. If my yammering is wearing on you, you’re more than welcome to tell me to shut the hell up.”

Good Lord, but he was sweet. Maggie couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t yammer. You may not believe it, but I was raised to be polite.”

“I was raised by my shouting and swearing older sister,” he said with a grin. “I don’t offend easily, sweetheart. And you did save my life. I can’t think of anything more polite than that.”

Maggie stared up at his gentle gaze, not having heard anything beyond
sweetheart.
It occurred to her that she may have been intrigued by Garret from a distance, but up close, he was devastating. The sincerity in his eyes made her yearn for things she shouldn’t. He made her want to be the woman he’d kissed and called beautiful. His lack of intent didn’t erase the memory of his kiss or the sweet ravaging of sensation she’d felt while in his arms.

Boots scratched at the door.

Garret cleared his throat and looked away. He drew a deep breath as though suddenly winded and set his stitching aside before pushing to his feet. “You ready for a walk?”

Maggie expelled a hard breath, trying to release the wild stir of sensations as she watched him shrug into his coat.

Tomorrow he’ll be gone and none of this will matter.

She picked up his dish towel and was surprised to find he’d nearly completed the outline. Not the straightest or most even stitches, but decent.
For a man.

“Be damned,” Garret said, having pulled the door open to a bright night sky. “It finally stopped snowing.”

She tucked the towel into her basket and joined him at the door. Her breath hit the crisp air in a puff of white. The storm had dissipated, but the cold hadn’t. She crossed her arms to block the chill as she watched Boots run beyond the clearing Garret had shoveled, all but disappearing into the deep bank.
Moonlight glistened against snow, silhouetting the rim of mountains surrounding her cove. Her stomach clenched at the thought of Garret walking through the gap beyond the forest of trees.

He’s going to find out who I really am. It’s time to move on anyhow.

A
minty scent hung in the air as Garret stepped inside. Grace stood at the pantry, tucking a slender canister onto the shelf.
Tooth powder.

“Did you just brush your teeth?”

“Yes,” she said, clutching a quilt around her shoulders as she looked up at him. “I should have offered you a toothbrush. I have a small supply and you seem to be one of the few men I’ve known who’d use one.”

“That I do. I used some of your baking soda before you woke.”

Her pretty white teeth flashed behind her smile as he went to the stove. He stoked the fire and added another log. He turned to find Grace sitting in the chair by the table. Her moccasin-covered feet propped on the chest, her sewing basket on the table beside her. She paid him no mind as she pulled green thread through the cloth.

If she intended to sleep at the table again, she was in for a fight. She’d already worn herself down taking care of him. The woman needed some solid sleep before she ended up sick.

“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight, Grace.”

Her needle paused as she glanced up at him.

“I’ve put you out for long enough.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“Like hell. You’re going to get sick if you don’t get some rest. You’d be warmer here in the bed.”

“You’re the one with a long walk ahead of you tomorrow.”

“All right, then. We’ll share the bed.”

She gaped at him before her eyes narrowed. “We tried that once.”

“I wouldn’t knowingly disrespect you. I swear you can trust me.”

“I’ll be fine right here.
Go to sleep, Garret.
”

Her haughty tone snapped the last shred of Garret’s patience. Just because her man had treated her with neglect didn’t mean he’d follow suit. He’d weather her rage to keep her warm.

“You’re getting a good night’s sleep,” he said, watching her eyes round as he plucked the cloth from her hands then scooped her slight weight into his arms.

“Put me—”

He dumped her onto the bed. “Scoot,” he ordered, and piled into bed beside her.

“I won’t—”

“Yes, you will.” He latched his arm around her middle as she moved to leap toward the foot of the bed. He dragged her down and locked her against his chest. “The only warm place in this cabin is in this bed. Might as well hunker down because you’re sleeping right here.”

She shoved at his arm and tried to surge up. “If you think I’m going to—”

“I’m going to make sure you do,” he said, shifting on top of her. “You’ve been taking care of me for days.”

“Get…off…me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I won’t hurt you, Grace.”

“If I thought you’d hurt me you’d have bled out by now!”

Her shouted words eased some of his tension. Fully aware of her blade pressed to his hip, he hadn’t been certain she wouldn’t try to gut him. The woman was a mind-bending combination of compassion and defensiveness.

“If I feared you,” she said in a milder tone, “you wouldn’t be in my cabin, much less my bed.”

“So relax,”
he said, easing his hold and shifting onto his side. “I’m not fevered out of my mind. I’m not going to try anything.”

Her eyes flinched. “How reassuring.” She twisted onto her side, but not before he saw the moisture hazing her eyes.

Damnation.
He meant to reassure her. “Grace, don’t think for a moment I’d have to be to want you.”

She didn’t respond.

“You’re a real fine woman.”

“If you don’t pipe down, I’m getting up.”

The last thing he needed to do was to elaborate on an attraction he’d been fighting to hide. He tugged up the blankets and turned onto his side, putting his back to hers. Not the most comfortable position, but certainly the safest.

“Good night, Grace.”

Trapped beneath the covers, the warmth of his back pressed against hers, Maggie didn’t answer. So much for his
gentle nature.
Staring at a spot of light cast by a lantern, she felt like a sardine packed into one of those tin cans. The stone wall sent her breath right back into her face.

She shifted her shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable spot, but it was no use. Garret’s big body forced her to lie straight as a fence post. She couldn’t deny her body’s craving for sleep. She ached to curl up, to curve her legs, to really feel his warmth against her. If she had to lie beside him, she might as well be comfortable.

“Garret?” she said, pushing up.

“What?”
He sounded wide-awake and just as irritable.

“I’m not comfortable.”

He muttered a few words beneath his breath before saying, “You can have the bed.”

“No,” she said, reaching over him before he could toss the blankets back. “That’s not what I meant. We fit in this bed when we weren’t back to back.”

His eyebrows shot up, the surprise in his expression nearly making her smile. The heat of his side penetrating her shirt made her eager to snuggle against him.

“I didn’t think you’d want—”

“Just lie back,” she said, her voice surprisingly gruff.

He stared at her a moment then eased against the pillow. “All right.”

The stiff blade at her hip hindering her plans, she released her belt and looped the beaded leather over the bedpost. Burrowing back beneath the covers, she shifted partially over Garret, settling her head against his shoulder. His shirt wasn’t as soft as his skin had been—but he felt nice all the same.

She marveled at the heat of his body as the tension in her muscles melted away. Warmth shimmered inside her, soothing her chill far more efficiently than any blanket ever had. She stroked his chest, her fingers burning to feel the direct heat of his skin.

Staggered by Grace’s display of trust, Garret stared at the ebony crown of her head and struggled to breathe. Her hand brushed over his shirt, her fingertips slipping just inside his open collar. The slight brush of skin turned his sleeping solution into sheer punishment. Did she really think their clothes made all that much difference when they were twined together so intimately?

Apparently so,
he thought as she yawned, her firm breasts brushing against his chest. If she moved her thigh a tad higher…

Holy hell.

“Okay?” she asked, seeming snug as a bug and sounding half-asleep.

“Sure.” He forced the word past his desire-constricted throat.

She didn’t suffer any such affliction, her body completely relaxed against his.
She’s just exhausted.
Or incredibly naive. Or perhaps she meant to torture him.

He tugged the heavy blankets up over her shoulders, knowing full well she didn’t have a clue as to how deeply her innocent movements burned him to the quick. He had to remind himself that Grace didn’t want him in her home and couldn’t wait to kick him on down the mountain.

Her hand moved again, sliding clear down to his waistband. Her fingers found a gap at the bottom of his shirt and burrowed inside. His breath hitched as fingertips trailed across his belly, leaving sparks beneath his skin.

“Grace?”

“What?” she asked, sounding sleepy, her husky voice adding to the wild stir of his blood.

“Your hand is in my shirt,” he said, as if she was somehow unaware of her hand stroking him as though he were a big tabby cat.

“You’re so warm.”

His hand flattened hers, holding her palm to the place where his heart thumped wildly. He shifted to his side, the sudden move dumping her onto the pillow beside him.

She tried to pull her hand away. “If you don’t like my touch—”

“I more than like it!
You’re setting me on fire.
”

“I am?”

He could hardly believe the surprise in her expression. She didn’t have any idea what her touch was doing to him. “It’s damn hard to have your hands on me when I’ve been fighting the urge to kiss you all day.”

Sapphire-blue eyes widened. “You wanted to kiss me?”

“I figured that much was obvious.”

“Not to me. No one’s ever wanted to kiss me before.”

Not wanted to kiss her? “Not even your husband?”

Her expression soured. “No. He wasn’t a tender sort of man.”

Garret had guessed that much, but he couldn’t have guessed the kiss she’d given him a few days ago had been her first. Guilt festered inside him as he recalled just how fully and all the places he’d kissed her. “I must have shocked you, waking you up the way I did.”

“You did.” Her slow smile filled him with the urge to relearn the textures of her mouth. “But I’ve had worse surprises. Like coons in the pantry, a skunk in my cabin—

Garret couldn’t fight his laughter. She tensed and tried to push away from him—not appreciating his humor.

He grabbed her hands. “Don’t get mad,” he said, brushing his lips over her fingertips. She trembled against him. “I’m just happy to hear kissing me ranked above skunks in your cabin.”

Her fingers curved around his as her smoldering blue eyes lingered on his mouth. “Can’t imagine your wife would have objected to kissing.”

“I haven’t had a wife in nearly three years, Grace. You’re the first woman I’ve kissed in a long while.”

She drew a deep breath and slowly released it, the minty scent tempting him.

“You didn’t really kiss me,” she said. “You thought you were dreaming.”

“It was a good dream.” Watching her eyes widen, he leaned in, pausing a breath away from her lips. “Grace, would you like to be kissed?”

Her hand slid into his hair and tugged him to her lips—incredibly soft lips that parted beneath his, welcoming the deep kiss he hadn’t stopped thinking about. The desire he’d been trying to suppress burst to life as she kissed him back without hesitation, her cool, minty tongue stroking against his. For being half out of his mind with fever when he’d kissed her last, his memory of her generous mouth and alluring tongue
sure hadn’t dimmed. His hands remembered the path they’d followed, the curve of her hip, swell of her backside, the firm, resilient flesh of her thigh still hidden beneath soft buckskin.

Her moan was captured inside his mouth as his hand began a slow ascent up her body until her breast filled his palm. Layers of wool and cotton didn’t hide the tight peak rising to his touch.

She whimpered against his mouth, her short nails biting into his shoulders.

Unsure of her response, he pulled back.

“Grace, if you want me to—”

“I do,” she said, her breath ragged as she pulled him back to her lips.
“I want you.”

She took possession of his mouth, his mind. Every stroke of her mint-tinged tongue pulled him deeper into a rush of passion exceeding anything he could have conjured in a dream. She arched against him, her breast pressing into his palm, seeking more of his touch. He groaned as she shifted beneath him, her thighs sliding over his hips as she pulled him more fully on top of her. The contact was like a jolt of lightning straight into his veins. Hunger roared through him, shaking him.

Returning her fervent kiss, he caressed her fully, but it wasn’t enough. He sought the buttons on her shirt but she combated his attempt. He moved back just as her hands stole inside the shirt she’d discreetly unbuttoned. Watching her eyes burn with pleasure as she combed her fingers over his chest enchanted him. She shoved the fabric toward his shoulders.

“Get this off.”

He definitely loved that demanding tone. Unable to resist, he recaptured her mouth, his hips shifting against hers as he drew her flushed lower lip between his teeth. She moaned, her body flexing against him, shuddering from the rhythmic caress of his hips. She was like a flower blooming beneath his touch. He ached to give her the pleasure she’d been denied.

“Kissing you,” he breathed against her mouth, “holding you…it’s like discovering spring.” He leaned back to comply with her wishes to remove his shirt.

Maggie couldn’t deny the feelings he awakened inside her were akin to springtime. Watching sculpted ripples move in the lamplight stirred a wave of flutters low in her belly, like a thousand rose petals opening at once. Every flex of muscle doubled her need to feel him press against all the parts of her body aching for his touch. She reached up, smoothing her hand across the contrast of his pale hair and deep bronze of his skin. Her fingertips traced a thin, darkening trail down his belly to the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned and moved over her. “You’re amazing.”

“It’s you.” She’d never felt this way before. The mere thought of pressing her skin to his made her shiver all over. To have his gentle hands on her body again…

She tugged at her wool undershirt but his hands stopped her.

“Let me.”

Maggie stared up at the warm green eyes intent on hers as he caressed her waist while making a slow ascent. She trembled as he brushed the sides of her breasts, his gentle fingers searching into the sleeves of her shirt, caressing and lifting the fabric away from her body.

“You’re soft as a spring blossom.”

Maggie knew she wasn’t, and tensed at the sudden thought of Garret seeing her body in the bright light, exposing years of hard-learned lessons with hair-trigger traps and unruly critters.

“Garret—”
Her shirts enveloped her as he pulled them up.

“Grace.”
Her hands caught over her head in a tangle of fabric, making her completely vulnerable, powerless against his roving gaze. Gasping for breath, she watched as he noted every imperfection.

Her eyes hazed. Before she could protest, his mouth was on her, dusting her body with kisses, showering her with ten
derness. The thrilling caress of his lips melted away her apprehension as heat swirled inside her.

His lips brushed the tip of one breast and then the other, sparking tendrils of new sensation.

“I like that,” she said, the words escaping her lips.

He smiled against her breast and the coils tightened.

“Me, too,” he whispered, his tongue grazing the tight, tingling peak before drawing her into the warm, wonderful wetness of his mouth.

Her back arched. She fought the fabric from her hand and plunged her fingers into his hair. His roving hands overwhelmed her as he caressed and molded, pushing away clothing until she felt his fingers caressing every inch of her skin.