The Cowboy Takes a Bride Page 19

  “Sounds kinda interesting.”

  “You’re out of your head from the fever. And you can’t stay here. You’re coming home with me.”

  She didn’t protest. She was feeling too rotten and he made good sense. He pivoted on his heel and carried her out to his pickup truck. They bumped across the pasture, headed for Green Ridge.

  By the time he got her into his house, into his bed, everything was a blur. She’d never been in his house before, but the surroundings didn’t register. Leather furniture. Hardwood floors. Dark colors. Her impression didn’t go much deeper than that.

  He carried her to a bedroom. To a rustic bedstead made of polished, rough-hewn hickory and sporting a luxurious pillow-top mattress. The comforter had horses on it. But of course, in Jubilee, horses were comforting.

  Joe stripped off her shoes, dropped them to the floor—thump, thump. Then he reached for the zipper on her jeans.

  “Well, I’ve dreamed about you getting me naked.” She giggled, on her back, staring at the ceiling. A ceiling without water stains or rain dripping in. “But I never thought it would be like this.”

  “Me either,” he said grimly, grabbing hold of the hem of her jeans. “Hips up.”

  She rose up, startled to discover how difficult that was, and he tugged the pants off her body. Mariah lay there in flannel top, T-shirt, and underwear, not feeling the least bit shy. Why wasn’t she feeling shy? She should be feeling shy. Shouldn’t she?

  Joe sank down on the edge of the mattress beside her and cast a glance over her. It was a worried look, nothing sexual about it.

  Too bad. She reached up with an index finger, smoothed the line between his eyebrows. “Don’t look so frowny.”

  “You’re out of your head. I’m calling Doc Freeman. He’s old as dirt but he still makes house calls.”

  “I’m not. I’m . . .” She paused, unable to remember what she was thinking. “Hey.” She patted the bed beside her. “Why don’t you join me?”

  “In a minute. I’ve got to get some fluids and aspirin down you. Lower that fever.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “C’mon, stay.”

  “You have no idea just how much I’d like to crawl under those covers with you, sweetheart, but not right now. Not like this. You just lie back against the pillow and take it easy.”

  “Spoilsport.” She pouted and flopped back on the pillow, then shivered, suddenly cold.

  Joe disappeared, but he returned a few minutes later with a glass of ice water and two aspirins. He leaned over, handed her first the aspirin, then the water. “Take these and drink all the water.”

  She obeyed, mainly because he stood there with his arms folded over his chest, until she’d downed it.

  He took the empty glass, set it on the bedside table. “Are you cold?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hot?”

  She grinned, reached for him. “Hot for you.”

  “You’re out of your head, darlin’.”

  She seemed to have lost all filter control over her tongue. “Out of my head over you.”

  He chuckled. “Shh, close your eyes. Try to get some sleep.”

  Mariah stifled a yawn. “Just for a minute. Just until the aspirins kick in. Then I’ve got to go back to work.”

  Joe snorted. “Over my dead body.”

  She clicked her tongue. “No way. I want that body fully alive.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” He left again and came back with a cool, damp cloth. As he bathed her forehead, Mariah had a flash of memory. Dutch. Bathing her forehead in a similar manner when she’d been sick. She’d never recalled the memory before and it twisted inside her. Had Dutch taken care of her the way a daddy should? Or was this a false memory, conjured up by the fever and a desperate need to believe her father had indeed loved her.

  She shivered. “Cold.”

  Joe stopped bathing her forehead and heaped blankets on her.

  She shivered harder, her teeth chattering. “So cold.”

  “Scoot over,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Scoot over,” he repeated. “I’m going to get in bed with you to warm you up. Transference of body heat.”

  “ ’Kay.” She scooted.

  He reached out and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her against his body. He was in his underwear and shirt too. When had he taken his jeans off? She didn’t remember him taking his jeans off. Oh well. This was nice.

  “How’s that?” he asked, tucking the covers up under her chin.

  “What if I’m contagious? What if I make you sick?”

  “I’m healthy as a horse.”

  “That’s an odd saying,” she mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, from my limited knowledge of horses, it seems like they’re always sick with something. Colic, stone bruises, pyoderma.”

  “You have a point. Then I’m much healthier than a horse.”

  “Good to hear. I’d feel terrible if I made you sick.”

  “You’re not going to make me sick. Now go to sleep.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her eyelids already half closed.

  “Mariah?”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured.

  “Did you mean it or was it just the fever talking?”

  “Mean what?”

  “That you’d been dreaming of getting naked with me?”

  Mariah never answered his question. She was already fast asleep.

  Joe crawled out of bed and got dressed. He’d called Doc Freeman when he’d gone to get her some aspirin and the elderly physician promised to come out within the hour. While he waited, Joe went to make sure his ranch hands had everything under control. The rain had picked up and was coming down in steady sheets. More heavy rains were predicted for the next few days. Bad timing, considering that first rounds of the Fort Worth Futurity started the day after Thanksgiving.

  Doc Freeman arrived and went in to examine his patient. Joe paced the hallway. All he could think about was how Dutch had died from pneumonia and the sorry state of the cabin. He could kick his own butt for not paying more attention to the condition of the place. Here he’d been helping Mariah build a chapel, when the first thing he should have done was put a roof on her home.

  “Forgive me, Dutch. I should have taken better care of your girl.”

  Doc Freeman emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later. “Bronchitis,” he diagnosed. “She just needs rest, lots of liquids, and these antibiotics.” He took a handful of pharmaceutical samples from his bag and passed them to Joe. “Give her one twice a day. I just gave her a tablet for tonight.”

  “Thanks, Doc. How much do I owe you?”

  The stooped old man held up a hand. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  He saw the doctor out, and then went to make a pot of homemade chicken soup in the Crock-Pot in case Mariah woke up hungry. When he finished that task, he went back to the bedroom.

  At one point she woke, thrashing and turning, throwing off the covers. She babbled about being hot. He checked her temperature. It was a hundred and three. Alarmed, he gave her more aspirin and sponged her skin with cool water.

  “Hot,” she said, “so hot.” She tore at her clothes, whipping off her shirt, her bra, her panties.

  Stunned, Joe stared at her beautiful body and instantly he was hard. So hard it took his breath. He closed his eyes against the shocking tingle arrowing through him. He opened his eyes again and his gaze met hers. He studied her lips, her breasts, her belly, her . . .

  Need seized him by the throat. Throttled him. Razor-sharp sensations sliced through his loins, and images of him and Mariah having sex peppered his mind.

  Disgusted with himself, he drew back. She’d already dropped back against the mattress, her eyes shuttered closed. He tugged the sheet up over her, more for his sake than hers.

  Breathing hard and heavy, he stumbled back to the chair in the corner. Sat in the darkness watching over her.

  After that, Mariah sl
ept soundly, her breath slow and raspy. At some point, he fell asleep too.

  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
>
  Mariah 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.”