Stolen Little Thing (Little Thing Series Book 1) (7 page)

The sun settled on the horizon and a cooling wind skimmed through the oaks, making the late winter afternoon take on a sudden chill. In the twilight, Luke and Esme danced, the only couple still swaying as the band played the last song of the night.

The ground under the low-hanging tree limbs had been tamped hard by the boots and slippers of at least a hundred wedding guests, most of whom Esme did not know but who greeted her with the affection of long-held friends. Each of the ladies had complimented her dress, expressed excitement and even wonder that Esme had managed to lasso the elusive Luke Crosby. Her new husband, Esme gathered, had been in the sights of several matrons wishing to see their daughters in the Crosby home.

Esme couldn’t help casting nervous glances, searching for signs of her father, her brothers, or any of the Duval henchmen, but her concerns were for naught, and the afternoon passed without incident. The vows were said, guests toasted the couple, and the evening drew to a close without incident. It was done.

The fiddle player drew out the last plaintive note and the few remaining guests clapped as the band took a final bow and began packing their equipment in cases and boxes.

Luke kept Esme in his embrace. He kissed her temple and stroked his hands down her back. His touch made her weaken and she drew closer, reveling in his embrace. Underneath Luke’s wool vest, Esme could feel thick bands of muscles flex. She inhaled his scent, an agreeable smell of leather and soap.

Since the vows were said, they had only danced twice. Luke had been busy talking to other men about ranching business. Esme tried moping, but he’d hardly noticed. There had been few glances from him in her direction, and no kisses other than the one in front of the minister. If she hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, one picked out by Nolan, she remembered, the whole evening might have passed like a party instead of a wedding reception.

“You’re all mine now, Esme.” He pulled her close as he whispered to her.

She drew a deep sigh. “It’s true. I’m all yours. But don’t forget the two springs, a half-mile of Honey Creek river-front, and four hundred eighteen acres that I bring with me.”

“And a house.” Luke’s hands drifted down to the small of her back. “Don’t forget the house with a new roof. I’m going to make that land profitable for us. Your uncle was a brilliant man, an intellectual, but not the best rancher.” He nuzzled her neck, nipping the tender skin playfully.

“Everybody wants that ranch. You’re not the only cowboy around interested in my land. I had several gentlemen in San Antonio on the string. Gentlemen too,” she teased, “Not rogues who stoop to practically stealing me.”

Luke frowned. “You’re talking about those friends of your father’s?”

Esme nodded. She bit her lip in an effort to repress her amusement. Always, she had been on the receiving end of his teasing, and she enjoyed the glint of jealousy she saw in his eyes. He hadn’t professed his love to her, not when he proposed or at any time today, and as a result she found herself seeking some sign of affection from him, even if it was only jealousy.

He twirled her around as though music still played, pulled her back into his arms, and pressed a firm kiss on her mouth. He narrowed his eyes. “You and I belong together. That’s why I stole you. I should have stolen you a long time ago.”

Esme searched his eyes, wondering if he meant those words because of affection for her or because of their shared property lines. He drew her toward their remaining guests. The tables, illuminated by lanterns, dozens of them that the boys had helped set out before the wedding, were surrounded by the boys and a few guests who looked as though they had little intention of leaving soon. All sat in a circle around Nolan, who was finishing an outlandish tale about the ghost of a wild bronc haunting the sand flats by the creek.

“What do I need to do to get these people to go home?” Luke grumbled, looking at the last guests with irritation. “If Nolan keeps feeding them liquor, they’ll be here for breakfast.”

Nolan began a new story, one about how he proposed to Loretta from the window of a hospital in Fort Worth. Esme couldn’t hear the details, but a roar of laughter extended beyond the boys who lingered nearby. When the story was done, Nolan held an empty whiskey bottle out to Maria who jumped to her feet to fetch him a replacement from a nearby table.

“They sure don’t put as much in these bottles as they used to!” Nolan proclaimed, taking the full one from Maria.

One of the men pulled out a deck of cards. The boys, all seven, joined the adults. They pulled up chairs and argued about what type of poker was the best.

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to be the last to leave a wedding reception?” Luke asked as he approached the card players hand in hand with Esme.

Nolan looked over at Luke. His eyes widened. “What the hell you two still doing here?”

Luke felt his irritation mount as he watched Nolan pour several other old-timers a generous belt of Luke’s best whiskey. Where was Loretta, he wondered, looking into shadows for a sign of the woman who could always be counted on to cut Nolan’s whiskey with a little water to slow him down. Luke didn’t especially like his foreman drinking in front of the boys, but at least he didn’t drink like he did before he married Loretta. Still it was still entirely possible for Luke to find him on the den couch, passed out after a night of drinking and banished by his wife from their house.

Luke decided to let it go. Nolan was already gaining momentum on a new tale, and the boys were more interested in the game of Five-Card Stud than listening to more of Nolan’s yarn.

Let them have their fun, Luke thought, drawing his wife near, and away from the cluster of tables. He’d spent the entire afternoon, an eternity it felt like, playing host with friends and neighbors, smiling, and conversing with them when all he really wanted was for everyone to leave early. If there were a few leftover guests, and if Nolan was intent on drinking into the wee hours of the morning, Luke wouldn’t worry. Not tonight. Not on his wedding night. He was ready to have his beautiful bride all to himself.

“Mrs. Crosby and I are retiring for the evening,” he called over his shoulder. “Ya’all can find your way home.”

Luke didn’t wait to hear their responses. Grasping her hand, he drew her away from the noise and toward the house. They walked up the path as dusk settled.

Loretta hurried past them with a tray of sandwiches, cookies and a pitcher of what Luke hoped was lemonade. She halted on the path and turned back to them. “I had Consuelo leave a tray of sandwiches in your room. I’m going to go play cards, unless you need me.” The last bit was directed to Esme. Loretta gave her a pointed look to communicate motherly concern. “Esme?” she added to make her offer perfectly clear.

“If she needs anything, I’ll take care of it,” Luke’s air of finality dismissed the woman.

“Good night, Loretta.” Esme made her voice bright to dispel any worry in her mind or Loretta’s.

Luke stopped at the front door, picked her up, and carried her across the threshold, plunking her down unceremoniously in the entry hall. Esme turned to face him, thinking he might kiss her, sweep her into his arms, declare his deep, abiding love, but he simply glanced around the foyer. He startled her, hollering several times for Consuelo or anybody else, and then smiled sheepishly when no one answered. It was his way of letting her know the house was empty.

Inside, the house lanterns were lit, the stairway illuminated by white tapered candles. Esme studied the grand house. It was her home now. Made of Texas limestone, it was larger and by far more elegant than Simon’s clapboard house.

They ascended the stairway side by side. A shiver of apprehension flitted across her shoulders.

“Scared?” he asked softly.

Esme shrugged. “This is the first time we’ve been alone. We haven’t discussed what sort of marriage this will be, our living arrangements and so on.”

Halfway up the staircase, Luke stopped her. He looked at her with an air of disbelief. “Living arrangements? Did you think that we would have separate rooms?”

“Or perhaps even separate houses since we have two.”

The quiet of the house filled the space between them until the grandfather clock striking the hour disturbed the stillness. Luke slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her next to him and began climbing the stairs once more. She had no choice but to move with him.

“Is that what you thought when you accepted my marriage offer, separate rooms, separate houses?”

Embarrassment scorched her skin. She wished Loretta would come back to give her the answers to questions Esme hadn’t thought to ask.

“Of course, I knew we would consummate the marriage,” Esme lied. “Some day. If you wanted.” Her words sounded ridiculous to her ears.

Luke muttered curses under his breath. “Some day? I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. For years, I’ve wanted to be with you. Half the county would have lined up to horsewhip me if they’d known what was going through my head back when we were just a little older than kids. I’d hoped those thoughts would go away with time, but when I didn’t see you anymore they just got worse.”

He ushered her into his bedroom where her belongings had been moved sometime during the day; trunks lined the wall some of her dresses were in them, some were hanging in the armoire. She went to cross the room, trying to keep her distance, and whirled around to face him.

His eyes flashed with the intensity she remembered from his early days when she saw him collared by the sheriff after one of his brawls. This was not the response she’d thought he would give her when she had imagined discussing their future.

After the ceremony, she’d watched her husband talk with everyone but her. With one group of ranchers, he discussed beef prices, and with an elderly neighbor couple he had argued good-naturedly about various hay harvests and milo strains. It was after the third time that day she heard her husband brag about how many head of cattle he would be grazing come summer that Esme decided they would need to get a few things straight between them. For example, where she fit into his life. How could he be angry with her when clearly she was the slighted party?

Esme bit her lip. “Our first fight. We just got married and we’re fighting just like my mother and father when they’re together.”

“This isn’t a fight.” Luke growled. Esme’s eyes grew wide; her hands drew fistfuls of her taffeta dress. Luke drew a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it slowly, keeping his gaze on her. “You can’t go live at Simon’s.” His voice low and measured, he added, “Esme, you and me, we belong together.”

Esme gave a tentative smile. Warmth filled her heart. His words eased the tension in her shoulders. “Luke, I didn’t know.” She paused to search for the right words. “I wasn’t sure what you felt.” She spoke in a soothing tone, an attempt to calm her agitated husband.

He stalked to the window and took candles from the sill, setting them on the fireplace, and pulled his tie fiercely to loosen it.

She went on. “I wasn’t certain what I meant to you.” Her breath caught in her throat. Could he say the words to her, the words she’d never heard from his lips or read in any letter from him? Wasn’t it his place to say those particular words first, and to say them on this particular night?

Luke crossed the room and grasped her shoulders. The fire in his eyes dwindled to a gentle warmth. “You mean everything to me, Esme,” he whispered. “Everyone knows that.”

Esme blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, filled her eyes, but she willed them away. Crying now would make her feel more foolish and vulnerable. He lifted her chin and set a chaste kiss upon her lips as he cupped her face with his hands. Esme wrapped her arms around his neck, and he tightened his embrace, deepening the kiss. She responded to him with her own hungering need. He hadn’t said the words she wanted to hear, but did it even matter? Her hurt feelings unraveled a little more with each caress.

Slowly, gently, he undressed her. He teased her about a bride wearing a girl’s debutante dress. She was tentative at first, then Esme unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her fingertips across the expanse of his shoulders. Luke drew in a sharp breath at her touch, and picked her up to carry her to bed.

The cool sheets of his bed chilled her bared skin as Luke drew her close, pulling the quilt over them. Esme trembled in his arms as her heart pounded.

“Anyone ever tell you about this business between a man and a woman?” His voice was gruff, and his breath on her neck made her skin tighten with goose bumps.

The word business made it sound like a transaction at a bank, and she recalled her mother’s stern lectures about this topic. According to Rosalind Duval, the business was one of two things: either the temptation of the flesh to be assiduously avoided by innocent girls, or the obligation to be fulfilled by a long-suffering wife.

Esme pulled the sheets closer around her naked body. “My mother always told me it’s a wife’s duty.”

Luke made a soft response of surprise as he kissed her neck and tugged the sheet from her clenched fingers.

“And that it wasn’t as painful as childbirth,” she continued.

Luke stilled and then lifted his head to look into her eyes. Esme could see the worry in his expression.

“But the good news was,” Esme added, “Most of the time it was over in less than five minutes.”