Gerrity'S Bride Page 17

  If she heard the sounds of the household about them as the afternoon passed, Emmaline gave no sign. She lay asleep in his arms for over an hour. All the while he held her, his own thoughts were too rampant to allow him to sleep.

  When she awoke, her eyelids fluttered, once, twice, and then in a rapid succession against his throat that brought a deep chuckle from within his chest.

  “Matt?” It was a bewildered little sound, and he chuckled again, unable to resist.

  “Matthew Gerrity! What are you doing?” she sputtered against his shirt, shifting and wiggling against him. “This is broad daylight, and you’re lying down with me right here where anyone can see us!”

  “I closed the door, Em,” he drawled softly, unwilling to release her from his hold, yet aware that this time of quiet had come to an end.

  “I don’t care,” she said vehemently, lifting herself from his embrace and smoothing her dress with one hand as she struggled to escape. “Get off me,” she said through gritted teeth, and she pushed at him.

  He raised his brow and grinned up at her. She was clamped between his big body and the back of the sofa. “Now, Emmaline, if I was on top of you, you’d have somethin’ to holler about. I’m just layin’ here, takin’ a siesta with you.”

  She pushed at him again and gained a few inches of space. Gathering herself together, she reached for him. Then, catching a handhold on his leather belt, she pulled herself over and atop him and slid to the floor. Before he could turn over, she had scrambled to her feet and was running her fingers through her hair, attempting to comb it into some semblance of order. She tugged at her dress, pulling it about her waist and brushing distractedly at the wrinkled skirt.

  “Just look at me,” she muttered. “I’m a mess!”

  “I am looking.” He stretched to his full length on the leather sofa, his hands folded against the breadth of his chest as he watched her flustered movements. “I think you look just fine, Emmaline. A little wrinkled around the edges, but then, if I’d taken your dress off before I laid you down, you probably would have woke up.”

  “Taken my dress off! Not likely!” she said tartly. Her frown deepened. “My other dresses are both in the wash, Matt. I’ll have to go to dinner looking like this.”

  “You can make do for today, honey,” he said soothingly. “You’ll be all decked out before long. You’ll be getting some baggage from Lexington before you know it.”

  She stilled her motions and looked at him askance. “What on earth do you mean?” she asked slowly, narrowing her eyes on him.

  He lifted his hands and then replaced them against his chest before he answered, chagrined at his disclosure. “I mean that I sent a telegram to your grandparents and asked them to send your things here.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

  “Better believe it, Em,” he said cheerfully. “I sent the wire when I went into town and got your dress and things and talked to the preacher. The stuff should be here in a couple of days or so, depending on how fast they get it packed up.”

  “What did you tell them? What did you say in the wire?” she asked quietly, her face pale in the subdued light.

  “Told them we were going to get married and you would be needing your things since you weren’t goin’ back east.

  “I don’t believe you!” She was vehement in her doubt. “You wouldn’t just tell them that way.”

  “Oh, but I did,” he said, disagreeing with her judgment of him. “Didn’t know any other way to say it, so I just said, ‘We’re getting married. Send her things.’ Or something like that,” he amended.

  “Didn’t you think I’d want to tell them myself?” she asked with deceptive calmness.

  He grinned at her, pleased with her. Doggone, she wasn’t even angry, he thought. Here he’d taken the whole thing out of her hands, planning the wedding and announcing it to her family. And then the honeymoon, such as it was. She’d been a good sport about it, he decided. She even spent the night in my bed without squawkin’, he mused, his grin widening.

  He should have been warned. He should have recognized the fury that smoldered within the depths of her eyes. She’d agreed to most everything he said...till now. Too late, he realized he’d pushed her beyond her limits.

  “Damn you, Matthew Gerrity!” The words exploded from her lips with the fury of a keg of dynamite being set off. “Who do you think you are, pushing me around this way? You must think I’m some sort of a ninny, that you can run me around in circles!”

  He lifted himself from the couch, soon realizing the full extent of his folly. But it was too late. She had turned to the desk, desperate for a weapon, and had hurled the first thing her hands fell upon.

  The heavy crystal inkwell hit him midchest, and the ink spewed forth with a vengeance, splattering his shirt generously, missing his eyes by the barest fraction of an inch and freckling his face with tiny spatters that stood out against his tan, like spots on a blue tick hound. With a thud, the heavy missile hit the floor, where it lay draining its last against the flowered carpet.

  Emmaline gasped, pale with dismay, as she viewed the results of her temper. Then, as if unable to face his wrath, she turned and fled the room, tugging for a moment at the doorknob before she managed to turn it and open the heavy door. Her steps were hurried, just short of a run, as she traveled the corridor to the big room at the corner of the house. Once within its shelter, she leaned against the door, panting, her chest heaving as she filled her lungs over and over again.

  It was several long minutes before she heard him coming and she stepped aside, aware that her strength would be futile against his when he opened the door.

  Strangely, he knocked, and she suppressed a gasp as she leaned closer to speak through the barrier.

  “What do you want?” she asked, her voice trembling, much to her distress.

  “I want to come in, Emmaline,” he answered with infinite patience.

  She caught her breath, her head swimming at the relief she felt. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound upset. Her hand rose to grasp the doorknob, and she opened it slowly, stepping back as his tall form stepped over the threshold.

  He was naked from the waist up, his chest bare but for the wide thatch of dark hair that curled there. And splashed over that whole area was the evidence of her fit of temper, the dark stain of ink that had penetrated the thick mat of curls and coated his skin. Below and above the hair, he wore small droplets of ink, which were scattered in profusion—even on the muscles that flexed in his arms. But it was the pinpoint specks on his face that drew her eyes, and she found herself backing away as he approached, one hand lifting to cover her mouth as she viewed the full extent of her deed.

  He was silent, one foot prodding the door closed. He watched her as he moved closer, intent on the stunned expression she wore.

  She’d gone as far as she could go—her legs were pressed against the bed—and still he watched. “Matt...” The single word was not much more than a whisper, muffled in her hand.

  “Yes, Emmaline.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m sorry?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” she asked, with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “Probably because I can tell you’re having a hard time not laughing right now,” he said matter-of-factly.

  She shook her head vigorously. “No, I’m not,” she vowed, finally daring to take her hand away from the mouth that yearned to widen in a grin. “Well, I might laugh, if I weren’t afraid that you’d really be mad,” she admitted after a moment. She leaned forward, looking at him searchingly. “You don’t look angry, Matt,” she said finally, relief apparent on her expressive face.

  His shrug was an answer in itself. He approached her slowly. “I’m not sure I can be mad at you, Emmaline. You had a right to pitch a fit. I’ve run roughshod over you for a couple of days now, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you finally got your back
up.”

  “You’re really not angry?” she repeated hopefully.

  He shook his head. “Nope.” The trace of a grin tilted the corners of his mouth. “It was almost worth it just to see the look on Maria’s face when she saw my shirt. She had it snatched off me quick as a wink, and I left her scrubbin’ away at it in the kitchen. Hated to tell her she might as well throw the dang shirt out and work on the carpet instead.”

  “You don’t think it’ll wash out?” she asked anxiously, peering at his face.

  He shook his head. “You owe me, Emmaline.”

  “I do?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat.

  He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I reckon this is about the worst thing you’ve done to me.”

  “It is?” Dolefully she considered his face once more. Her eyes narrowed. “What else have I done to you?” she asked suddenly, aware of his accusation.

  “I don’t think you want me to name everything, Em.” He reached for her with a quick movement she was too slow to evade. “Let’s just say you’re about to make payment.”

  “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...”

  Chapter Twelve

  “What 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 deni
ed 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.