Jillian Hart - The Horseman

“Hey, ready to go up to bed?” He lifted the book out of her hands gently. If she protested, he’d give it back.

She sparkled, like the first star in a night sky, tentative but unable to hold back the light. “I suppose it is getting late.”

Was that her roundabout way of saying she wanted this night to be different than the others? Please.

He’d been hard all evening. All he had to do was be alone with her. Showing her how to boil potatoes on the stove, cooking side by side and being able to touch her, just touch her, run his hand across her back as he reached around her for a hot pad to lift the kettle lid with. To stop and breathe in the scent of her hair and shampoo as he set the beef steaks to frying.

He was harder now and wanted her with a fierceness that he’d never felt. A hunger unparalleled. He set the book on the floor with a thud and held out his hand. She rose from the chair, a sensual womanly movement that stirred his desire. Her fingertips lightly stroked the center of his palm as she grabbed his hand that kindled his need for her.

And led him up the stairs. This night would be different. He was going to get to hold her all night long, her nakedness against his. Desire crackled through him, roaring hotter and higher.

He watched the sway of her fanny beneath that pretty calico dress. And the curve of her neck and the subtle sway of her perfect breasts, which moved with her every step.

I’m a lucky man. Without a single doubt. She was like grace come into his life, a haven from the pain of loneliness. A balm to a deeper wound he hadn’t been aware of until now.

The wound of not being loved. It was an unhappiness that was gone, and looking back, he could see how discontent he had been. It was why he moved from ranch to ranch, always traveling. To cover up the fear that no woman would ever think he was good enough to love.

Katelyn loved him. She’d said so, and he’d felt the truth of it. He was still afraid she might change her mind.

And now that he had a sample of what it was like to be loved by her, why, it was paradise. How could he go back to living without her?

He couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

As Katelyn led him into their bedroom and searched through the dark for matches to light the lamp, he lifted her braid and kissed the sensitive spot just above her collar.

She drew in a surprised intake of breath, as if she hadn’t expected this but liked it. She leaned against him, already surrendering, already wanting.

He drew her into his arms, her back to his chest and, chin on her head, began unfastening the buttons that kept her breasts from his touch.

He’d waited long enough. He’d not wait another second to bind her to him, make her a little more his. He brushed the dress from her shoulders and the garments beneath and led her to their bed. He laid her down and made love to her, his wife, his love.

He gave her all the pleasure he knew how to give. Gentle touches and hot kisses and slow deep thrusts that made her arch up to take him deeper. That made her fingers dig into his back as she surrendered. It was his name she called when she broke around him, his name she whispered as she kissed his face afterward.

She clung to him when, sated and full of his seed, sleep claimed her.

Even in her dreams, she held fast to him.

Wasn’t it a beautiful day? Katelyn couldn’t believe how light she felt. As weightless as those tiny snowflakes floating in a crisp morning sky. It was because she’d awakened in the warmth of Dillon’s arms, tucked against his chest as if he thought she was the most precious thing to him.

He’s that precious to me. Love for him glowed like a noontime sun within her, warming her from the inside out. Memories from last night rippled through her. The passionate taste of his kisses. The possessive gentleness of his caresses. The liquid glide of him inside her, the pleasure of it, the intimacy.

She’d never known that kind of pleasure existed. And that it could get better each time. As her affections for him did. Each time he made love to her, the feelings inside her heart doubled. How could that be?

She strolled into the kitchen, warm and toasty. Dillon had lit the stove for her, on his early-morning trip to the stables. Wasn’t that thoughtful?

A small bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine sat precisely in the middle of the table. “To Katelyn, my love,” was written in a bold script.

Dillon had gotten her a gift? What a thoughtful man. What a wonderful man. He’d gone to town yesterday, and he’d taken the time out of his busy errand running and supply buying to choose a little something for her. Should she open it now? Or wait?

As if in answer, the wall clock bonged six times. What she’d better do is get breakfast cooking, that’s what! The gift would be all the better for the waiting.

She sliced bacon and set it on to fry. While the meat sizzled, she sliced potatoes and melted butter to fry them in. She kept stealing glances over her shoulder.

It was something small. Like a barrette for her hair. Or a pin for her lapel. Ooh, what could it be? She tried to imagine what Dillon would have selected. A bar of scented soap? A length of lace?

She ground the coffee beans the way Dillon had shown her and put the ground coffee on to boil. The kitchen smelled of sizzling bacon and buttery potatoes and coffee perking. Her stomach growled as she flipped the crisping slices of bacon. Good, she liked them crispy. It was almost time to put on the eggs.

“Who is this beautiful woman in my kitchen?” Dillon clomped across the kitchen in his boots, bringing with him the sting of a winter’s breeze.

The cold clung to his clothes as he wrapped her in a big hug from behind, snuggling her against him, as wonderful as a dream. “Wait, I know who you are. You’re my wife.”

“Imagine that.” She leaned against him, sinking against him. She could close her eyes, relax and stay right here forever. “That’s what happens when you take a woman to the minister. She tends to come home with you and cook your breakfast.”

“I’m just glad you’re here.” His fingers traced the ring on her left hand. His kiss against her brow. Tender. Heartfelt. True.

“Me, too.” It was like a dream, being in his house, in his arms. She flipped the potatoes and he held her, held on. He was about as soft as iron, but his heart, why, it was as genuine as heaven’s light.

It was like a fairy tale, like everything good in the world, and she was living it. Here, in an ordinary kitchen with an ordinary wedding ring on her finger.

And the man she’d married, why, legends could be written about him and still fall short of the truth.

When he kissed her brow, it was like soaring on a wind above mountains. When he tilted her head just enough so he could slant his lips over hers, it was like being lifted into the clouds, so fluffy and sweet.

When he pulled her around to face him, and clasped his strong hands at the small of her back, pulling her against his unyielding chest, it was like gliding in one fast, breathless flight to heaven.

“You didn’t open your present,” he murmured against her lips. “I hurried in just to see the look of delight on your face. Now you’ve disappointed me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sure there’s something you can do to make it up to me.”

“What? Let me think. Oh, I could burn your breakfast.”

“Ah, not what I had in mind.” Chuckling, he released his hold on her just enough to let her turn but not let go.

He kept both hands on her hips and his chest to her back while she flipped and stirred the potatoes and turned the browning bacon strips.

“I’ve got to get the eggs on,” she said, as if she expected him to move away from her.

No force on earth or in heaven was strong enough to make him. Dillon stayed right where he was. Breathed in her sweet female scent and treasured the silken tickle of her hair against his shaven jaw. Filled his fingers with the soft feel of her. Remembered how it had been last night, loving her, inside her, making her his.

His fingers crept across her stomach and cradled her low. He knew she’d had a tough pregnancy and miscarriage, but maybe one day their son would take root.

Their child. Tenderness left him weak.

Having Katelyn in his life…Overcome, he couldn’t find the right words. It had changed everything. Already his life was completely new. Where once he’d been a lonely man with nothing to anchor him, now he had a loving wife and a happy home and a reason to risk building his dreams. For the son that might come along one day.

For the woman who held his heart in her hands.

She didn’t appear to know it as she flipped the eggs with care, the way he’d shown her, to keep the yolks intact. “Today is the sewing circle gathering at Mariah Gray’s house.”

“Need a ride, do you?”

“I don’t like that tone in your voice, sir. You sound mischievous.”

“No, just call me a man who sees an opportunity. You need a ride, and I can hitch up the horse for you. The question is, what will you give me?”

“How about your breakfast served on a plate and not tossed at your head?”

She was laughing. He could feel it move through her, and it was good. She trusted him enough to be playful. “Hey, I’ll behave. All right. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go, all you have to do is say. Just don’t pelt me with fried food in my own kitchen.”

“This is my kitchen now, too.”

“And I thought marrying you would be a good idea.” Chuckling, he pressed kisses into her hair. He loved her so much. And this was only the beginning. Right?