The Cowboy Takes a Bride (27 page)

Several hours later, Mariah stirred, coughed.

Joe jerked awake. The room was totally dark.

“Joe?” she whispered.

“I’m here.”

“I can’t see you.”

He got up, moved to the dresser, fumbled through the top drawer in the darkness for the candles and matches kept there in case of power failure. Finally, he found what he was looking for, struck the match, lit the candle, and settled it onto the dresser. The scent of pineapple and cilantro filled the air. His nose twitched. One of Becca’s kitchen candles.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, moving over to perch on the edge of the mattress beside her.

“Better. Thank you for staying with me.”

He looked into her eyes, felt a thrust of emotion so strong he couldn’t name it.

She touched his chest, and all the breath stilled in his lungs. With tentative fingers, she traced her way up to his neck, trailing her fingertips over his face in the dim light.

“Joe,” she murmured. “Joe.”

His name on her tongue sounded like the holiest of music. The soft contact of her hand burned through his skin, seeped into his blood.

Damn his hide. He was a total bastard for feeling anything sexual. She was sick and weak, but he couldn’t stop his body from reacting. Especially when her delicate little fingers came back to trace the jagged scar on his chest through the fabric of his shirt.

She wriggled closer and his erection stiffened. He opened his mouth, his breath coming out in raspy gasps. It was all he could do not to drag her into his arms and squeeze her tight. Not because he wanted sex, although he had to admit his body was desperate for her, but simply to reassure himself that her fever had truly broken and she was on the mend.

He kissed her forehead. It was tepid, cool. “Fever’s gone.”

“Thanks to you.” She smiled at him, reached up to touch his chin. Then she frowned. “I don’t remember what happened. One minute I was painting the chapel and the next . . .”

“You collapsed.”

“And you carried me into the cabin?”

“We’re not at the cabin,” he said. “You’re here. At Green Ridge. In my bed. I couldn’t leave you in that leaky cabin alone, and besides, that twin bed was just too damn small for the both of us.”

“I’m naked.” Her eyes widened. “How did I get naked?”

“You were burning up with a fever.”

“And you . . .” Her voice got husky. “Took my clothes off?”

Joe closed his eyes, thinking about the graceful lines of her body. If he lived to be a hundred he’d never forget. “You undressed yourself. You were just trying to cool off.”

“I’m cool now. In fact, I could do with a little heating up.” An inviting expression slipped over her face. She reached out, traced her fingertips over his bare arm.

Joe froze, his pent-up breath an ache in his chest. His body yearned to join with hers, but he was caught between the past and the present. Between what had been and what could be. Part of him wanted to take her and let the consequences be damned. Hell, from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d dreamed of a moment like this. But did he want Mariah? Or was he simply trying to recapture what he’d lost with Becca?

It was a disturbing question.

And what the hell was she doing to him with those wicked fingers of hers? Dammit, he desperately wanted to let her keep exploring. He wanted to explore
her.

Incredible, unbelievable sensations ran through him. Sudden insight blinded him. She was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

She shifted, propping herself up on the pillows, holding the sheet up to cover her bare breasts.

Joe studied her in the candlelight. He loved the sound of her voice, low and melodious. Loved her smell, like a kitchen at Christmas. And he loved the way she moved, graceful as a doe, lithe and swift.

Mariah looked so heartbreakingly beautiful, tangled up in his sheets. He hungered to make love to her, but he didn’t dare. He was terrified of being with her, terrified he couldn’t give her what she needed, terrified of hurting her. Terrified of investing too much into a relationship with her and ending up hurt himself.

He couldn’t make her any promises. He’d been down this road before, seen it end tragically. Plain and simple, he was afraid to love her. She was a city girl at heart, and in spite of the wedding chapel project, he knew it was just a matter of time before she left Jubilee.

Left him.

Coward.

Maybe so. But he was damaged goods, fundamentally broken, and he couldn’t love her the way she deserved to be loved.

She wriggled closer, rose up, splayed a hand over his chest. Then she touched her lips to his, softly, gently.

“No,” he said, pulling back. “This isn’t happening.”

Her eyes widened but her voice was certain, clear. “You like kissing me. I can feel your heart thumping fast against my palm.”

“I’m not denying that I want you.”

She reached down and touched his shaft through his jeans. “You’re hard.”

“And getting harder by the second,” he said, his voice coming out as if he were speaking through a wad of cotton. “But I don’t have to act on animal impulse. I’m in control of myself.”

“Are you?” She purred, devilishly.

He drew on every bit of strength he possessed. “Yes.”

“Then why did you sit down here beside me? Especially when you knew I was naked?”

Why indeed? He had no answer to that.

“I want you, Joe. I want you to make love to—”

“No, Mariah.”

“I’m not asking for promises. I don’t
want
promises. I just want us to make each other feel good. Is that so wrong?”

No. Not wrong. Not wrong in the least.

“I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“You’re not leading me on. I’m a big girl. I know what—”

“You say that now, but—”

“Stop interrupting and just listen to me a damn minute, cowboy,” she said.

Joe’s eyes widened. No one spoke to him in that tone of voice, not even his willful Becca. Not when he put his foot down. Becca never challenged him directly. She just slipped around behind his back. Such sass from anyone would have grabbed his notice, but coming from Mariah, it was a sucker punch to the gut.

Mariah sat up straight, her beautiful bosom popping free of the covers, revealing two perfect breasts in the flickering candlelight. “Look, if you don’t want to have sex with me, then just say so. But stop pretending it’s because you don’t want to hurt me. Be honest. You’re still hung up on your ex-wife. That’s fine. I get it. I’ll never compare to the sainted Becca.”

“Becca was no saint,” he growled, totally surprised that he said it.

He hadn’t known he was going to say it.

“Tell that to the entire town of Jubilee. Everywhere I go, it’s Becca this and Becca that. Becca hung the moon. I get it. She’s a goddess and I’m a mere mortal. That doesn’t mean that you and I can’t have some fun together.”

“Becca was far more mortal than you’ll ever be.”

“I know. Because she died. I can’t compete with that, Joe,” Mariah murmured.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what’s the holdup? What am I doing wrong? I’ve been waiting for weeks for you to make a move, and nothing. I thought we connected. I thought after that night in the barn—”

“Because,” he said, finally admitting the full truth to himself as he was admitting it to her, “I’ve been living so long in the dark that I’ve forgotten how to see the light. I don’t want you to get lost in my darkness, Mariah. I care about you too much to let that happen.”

Chapter Fifteen

If you come to a fork in the road, take it.

—Dutch Callahan

M
ariah awoke just before dawn feeling better than she’d felt in days. She sat up, stretched, yawned and looked around the room. For a moment, she’d forgotten where she was, until she saw Joe asleep in the chair at the foot of the bed. Her memory blurred fuzzy, but she remembered bits and pieces of the night before.

He brought her to his house. Put her in his bed. Sat with her until her fever broke. His kindness and concern touched her in a place no man had ever touched. She awakened naked. She was still naked. Quietly, she searched around in the depths of the covers and found her clothes. She slipped on her underwear, her T-shirt, the soft blue flannel shirt she’d worn over the tee. She needed a shower, fresh clothes. She needed to get out of here.

Joe lay slumped down in the overstuffed chair, his legs extended out in front of him, his head resting off to one side on the plump cushion. She took in the snug fit of his T-shirt and the fact he was still in his blue jeans. But he’d shucked his belt and boots. Beard stubble ringed his hard jaw and a lock of jet black hair had fallen over his forehead, reminding her of the first day they’d met when he’d seemed so dark and mysterious.

She itched to touch him, to smooth back his hair, run her fingers over that scratchy beard, press her lips to his. Thank him for taking care of her.

The air smelled faintly of pineapple and cilantro and she spotted the scented candle on the dresser, recalled that he’d lighted it during the night. The bedroom was decorated just as she imagined it might be. Cowboy all the way. It occurred to her that she was lying here in the queen-sized bed Joe had shared with his late wife. That made her feel a hundred different things, none of them comfortable.

“Mornin’,” Joe said. He sat up and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. His T-shirt went up with the movement, giving her a peek at his awesome abs.

“Morning,” she echoed.

“How you feelin’?”

“Much better,” she said. “Do you think I could take a shower?”

“Sure, sure.” He got up. “I’ll see if I can find some clean clothes for you to put on.”

“Becca’s clothes,” she said.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “She was about your size.”

“You know,” she said, the idea of wearing his dead wife’s clothes making her feel weird, “I think I’m well enough to go back to the cabin.”

“No. That roof is a sieve. You’ll never heal in that damp environment. Besides, it’s been raining in solid sheets all night, the road to the cabin could easily wash out. Even if I could get you back there, I’m not leaving you somewhere you could get stuck alone for days until this bad weather passes.”

She started to argue, but when she threw back the covers and went to swing her legs off the bed, sudden dizziness took her breath away. He was right. She wasn’t strong enough to be alone yet.

“Easy,” Joe said, his hand going around her back. “Light-headed?”

Mariah heard a soft catch in his voice. He smelled good—masculine and hearty. His scent hooked her so surely that she didn’t want him to ever let go of her. But his proximity was dangerous within the parameters of a bed. Being so near him, so vulnerable to him, caused a strange unraveling inside her. She wanted him, but she wasn’t ready for him, and she suspected he wasn’t ready for her either. If he had been, he wouldn’t have kept his distance this past month.

So she lied, slipped from his grip. “It’s passed.”

But Joe wasn’t easily fooled. He took hold of her elbow. “I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

She turned her head to look at him, to argue, but got trapped by the hypnotic lure of his coffee-colored eyes. The irises were almost as dark as his pupils, dilated wide in the bedroom’s dimness. That made her dizzier than the residual fever weakness.

Thankfully, he left her at the door of the bathroom. She took her time with showering, letting the hot water wash over her. By the time she finished, and padded back into the bedroom with a thick bath towel wrapped around her, she found stylish pink lounging pajamas spread out for her on the bed, along with pink crew socks and pink slippers. The bed had been made but the covers were turned down in case she wanted to crawl back in. She smiled at the efforts Joe had taken to make her comfortable.

She and Becca had been close to the same size, although Mariah had never been a pink person. She put on the clothes, and then opened the bedroom door.

The smell of cooking chicken curled down the hallway, calling her name. It might be morning, but she was ravenous to eat anything for breakfast. Running a hand along the wall to keep her steady, she followed the scent into the kitchen.

Joe had just come in from outside. He was scuffling his boots on the mat at the door and shaking off a black rain slicker. He glanced up, saw her standing there, and simply stopped everything he was doing to stare at her.

Feeling self-conscious, she reached up to run a hand through her hair. She was in his wife’s clothes. Was he seeing Becca in her? That made her stomach dive. The last thing she wanted was to be a substitute.

“I . . . I . . .” Joe stammered. “I’ve been out checking on the livestock. I listened to the weather report. Another line of fierce storms is moving through. This might go on for a couple of days.”