He laughed. He was so pleased with her he had to kiss her again. Then he let his head drop back on the pillow and let out a loud, sleepy yawn.
"You put me through hell waiting to get my hands on you."
He was exaggerating, of course, at least she thought he was, and she wouldn't have given up the last two weeks for anything. He had proven to her during that time that he was possibly the most romantic man in the entire world. He'd courted her with what he referred to as a vengeance. She had never had a chance against him-he'd warned her about that-but she had held out for as long as possible to give him time to make certain he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
She had been concerned that it was only an infatuation on his part and therefore he saw only the good qualities in her. He had set her straight about her misconception at dinner the night before by cheerfully listing every single one of her flaws. It took him a long time to get them said too, and though she had been aware of a few, he pointed out several more she hadn't even known about. She was still stubbornly insisting that she wasn't stubborn at all.
"Do you know what I think, Travis? That one kiss good-bye led to this night."
He rolled her onto her back again. "I knew before then, and so did you. I love you."
"I love you too."
"Emily?"
"Yes?"
"Kiss me good-bye again."
One White Rose
THE ROSE — BOOK 3
Chapter One
The little woman was in trouble. Big trouble. No one, male or female, pointed a rifle at Douglas Clayborne without paying the consequences, and just as soon as he could get the weapon away from her, he would tell her so.
First, he was going to have to sweet-talk her into stepping out of the stall and into the light. He planned to keep on talking until he had edged close enough to take her by surprise. He'd rip the rifle out of her hands, unload it, and break the damned thing over his knee. Unless it was a Winchester. Then he'd keep it.
He could barely see her now. She was crouched down low behind the gate, shrouded in shadows, with the barrel of the gun resting on the top slat. A kerosene lamp was hooked to a post on the opposite side of the barn, but the light wasn't sufficient for him to see much of anything at all from where he stood, shifting from foot to foot, a few feet inside the open door.
A hard, driving rain was pelting his back. He was soaked through, and so was Brutus, his sorrel. He needed to get the saddle off the animal and dry him down as soon as possible, but what he wanted to do and what the woman would let him do were two different matters.
A bolt of lightning lit up the entrance, followed by a reverberating boom of thunder. Brutus reared up, let out a loud snort, and tossed his head. The horse obviously wanted out of the rain as much as he did.
Douglas kept his attention on the rifle while he tried to soothe the animal with a whispered promise that everything was going to be all right.
"Are you Isabel Grant?"
She answered with a low, guttural groan. He thought his harsh tone had frightened her and was about to try again in a calmer voice when he heard her panting. At first he thought he was mistaken, but the noise got louder. She was panting all right, and that didn't make a lick of sense. The woman hadn't moved a muscle since he'd come inside the barn, so she couldn't possibly be out of breath.
He waited for the panting to subside before he spoke again. "Are you Parker Grant's wife?"
"You know who I am. Go away or I'll shoot you. Leave the door open behind you. I want to watch you ride away."
"Lady, my business is with your husband. If you'll kindly tell me where he is, I'll go talk to him. Didn't he tell you I was coming here? My name is…"
She interrupted him in a shout. "I don't care what your name is. You're one of Boyle's men, and that's all I need to know. Get out."
The panic in her voice frustrated the hell out of him. "There isn't any need to get upset. I'm leaving. Will you tell your husband Douglas Clayborne is waiting in town to give him the rest of the money for the Arabian? I'm going to have to see the animal first, as he agreed. Can you remember all that?"
"He sold you a horse?"
"Yes, he did. He sold me an Arabian stallion a couple of months ago."
"You're lying to me," she cried out. "Parker would never have sold either one of my Arabians."
He wasn't in the mood to argue with her. "I've got the papers to prove it. Just tell him, all right?"
"You purchased a horse you've never seen?"
"My brother saw him," he explained. "And his judgment is as good as mine."
She burst into tears. He took a step toward her before he realized he was actually thinking about comforting the woman, and abruptly stopped.
"I'm real sorry your husband didn't tell you about the horse."
"Oh, God, please, not now."
She started panting again. What in blazes was the matter with her? He knew something was wrong, and he had a feeling her husband was responsible for her tears. The man should have told his wife about the horse. Still, her reaction was a bit extreme.
Douglas thought he should say something to help her get past her misery.
"I'm sure all married couples go through spots of trouble now and then. Your husband must have had a good reason for selling the stallion, and he was probably so busy he forgot to tell you about it. That's all."
The panting got louder before it stopped. Then she whimpered low in her throat. The sound reminded him of a wounded animal. He wanted to walk away but knew he couldn't leave her if she was in trouble… and just where was good old Parker anyway?
"This shouldn't be happening," she cried out.
"What shouldn't be happening?" he asked.
"Go away," she shouted.
He was stubborn enough to stay right where he was. "I'm not leaving until you tell me who Boyle is. Did he hurt you? You sound like you're in a lot of pain."
Isabel instinctively responded to the concern she heard in his voice. "You aren't working for Boyle?"
"No."
"Prove it to me."
"I can't prove it to you without showing you the letter from your husband and the paper he signed."
"Stay where you are."
Since he hadn't moved an inch, he couldn't understand her need to shout at him. "If you want me to help you, you'll have to tell me what's wrong."
"Everything's wrong."
"You're going to have to be a little more specific."
"He's coming, and it's much too early. Don't you understand? I must have done something wrong. Oh, God, please don't let him come yet."
"Who is coming?" he demanded. He nervously glanced behind him and squinted out into the night. He thought she might be talking about Boyle, whoever in tarnation he was.
He was wrong about that.
"The baby," she cried. "I can feel another contraction."
Douglas felt as though he'd just been punched hard in the stomach. "You're having a baby? Now?"
"Yes."
"Ah, lady, don't do that." He didn't realize how foolish his demand was until she told him so between whimpers. His head snapped back. "Are you having a pain now?"
"Yes." She said the word with a long moan.
"For the love of God, take your finger off the trigger and put the rifle down."
She couldn't understand what he was telling her.
The contraction was cresting with such agonizing intensity she could barely stand up. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth together while she waited for the pain to stop.
She realized her mistake as soon as she opened her eyes again, but it was already too late. The stranger had vanished. He hadn't left the barn though. His horse was still standing by the door.
The rifle was suddenly snatched out of her hands. With a cry of terror, she backed further into the stall and waited for him to attack.