Jonah's Bride

'Tell me. I need to know the truth,' he demanded.

'His lungs are failing.' She pushed a handful of ebony ringlet curls out of her regret filled eyes. Eyes that touched him with sympathy. 'Jonah, I have done my best to ease his discomfort, but you must call a surgeon. There is naught more I can do.'

'Then do more.' Jonah tore across the room, knocking aside a chair. Anger tore at his chest-the only feeling he'd known for so long-and it raged bright enough to burn him clear through. 'Father cannot die. You must do something. Get back upstairs. Use your herbs-'

She raised two slender hands, callused, work-reddened. 'Jonah, I cannot-'

'Do it, I say!' Anger ground his words into a threat. His fingers closed around her upper arms, holding her captive, hostage to the emotions tearing him apart. 'You cannot let Father die.'

'Jonah.' Her soft voice, nearly whispering his name, stopped him, made him blink. The red rage before his eyes ebbed. He saw Tessa's heart-shaped face, lined with fatigue, crinkled with worry. Tears shimmered in her eyes. 'You're bruising me.'

In shock, he let her go. She took a step back, rubbing her small hands over her forearms, as if to chase away his touch. Or the crushing pain from his grip.

Shame filled him. He'd never hurt a woman. Would never wish to- He hung his head. 'Tessa, I'm sorry.'

'No matter.' Cold and distant, she sounded. Strangely disappointed. 'You're overwrought, I understand. The news is not good. I plan to stay and do what I can. Regardless of what you think of me, I would never leave a dying man alone and suffering.

A dying man. Her words struck him like a blow. Damn fool, he'd been gone too long. He'd let the years slip by like dirt through his fingers, never stopping to think his father, so strong and brave, would not live forever. Jonah took a step back, mind reeling.

And now, was he too late? Would there be no time to share tales, watch sunrises, walk the cornfields with Father and speak of harvests, of hopes for the future?

He had no one to blame but himself. In chasing after what he'd hoped would make Father proud, he'd lost a decade, precious time that could not be recovered.

A pair of velvet blue eyes gazed up at him, shimmering with unshed tears and an emotion that drew him hard and fast. Air lodged in Jonah's chest seeing the hurt he'd caused. A hurt he could not guess at.

'I'm sorry, Tessa.' The words came broken, edged with defeat. He'd been wrong to raise his voice and to hold her captive. 'I know you have done all you can.'

Her bottom lip wobbled. Soft and full, too lush for her thin, pale face. ' 'Tis all right.'

Yet she turned away, shoved her callused hands deep in her faded skirt's pockets and ascended the stairs. Blood thickened in his veins watching the sway of her hips beneath her skirt. The darkness swallowed her until there was only the sound of her light foot on the steps.

Jonah rubbed his hands over his face. Aye, always the fool. If he were half as successful in relationships, in interacting with other people as he'd been on the battlefield… Well, that was his true failure. Something he could not hide here in this house, in this small town, where family and relationships were everything.

'Was that Mistress Tessa I heard?' Thomas' voice came from the shadowed library. 'Has she good news of Father's condition?'

'Nay.' Only two candles flickered against the darkness. Jonah hadn't the heart to light more. Now he saw only the shadow of his brother, broad shouldered and far more capable than he himself could ever be. 'He is ailing. I am off to fetch a surgeon from Saybrook. Tell Andy. Tessa will need help if Father worsens.'

' 'Tis foolish for you to leave.' Thomas stepped into the ribbons of light, solemn eyes unflinching. 'I will go after a doctor.'

'Nay, I shall do it-'

'I have been here these last few years, Jonah. I can spare the time away from him. You cannot.'

Shame crept around his heart and squeezed like a grip. 'I must go.' He reached for his cloak.

'I know the way best.' Thomas' hand stopped him. 'Night will come before long, and I can find my way better than you through the dark. I have traveled the roads more. Trust me, Jonah, I will ride faster and return more quickly. 'Twill be best for Father.'

' 'Tis only sensible.' Shame tightened its grip inside his chest. 'Thank you, brother. I will find Andy and carry in more firewood. Make myself useful somehow.'

'You are too harsh with yourself. It can be no easy task trying to fill Father's footsteps. Do not try so hard to be somebody else.' Thomas' voice dipped, and kindness shone in his eyes. 'I will saddle one of the stallions and leave immediately.'

'Godspeed, brother.' Jonah listened to Thomas' steps in the kitchen, heard the back door bang shut, felt silence creep through the house.

He heard the slightest footfall on the ceiling above. Tessa. Until the surgeon came, Father's fate lay in her caring hands.

She recognized Jonah's step in the hallway. She only had time to brace herself before he strolled through the door, all brash and spellbinding brawn.

'You look exhausted.' Kindness flickered in his compelling eyes.

Little bubbles of heat popped in her blood. Why did she react strongly to him? He made her think of her most secret dreams, of how good his body had felt against hers, hard and strong and so wondrously male. She opened her mouth, but no words came.

'Any change?' Jonah demanded from the threshold, his voice tight.

'Nay.'

'You're angry at me.' He winced. 'Because I hurt you. I didn't mean it. I didn't know I was bruising you.'

Of course not. He'd held her with a possessive strength she'd never felt before, claiming and unyielding and filled with heart-deep need. No one had ever held her that way. No one ever would again.

'You need not worry,' she said quietly, folding the used towel in careful thirds. 'I know that there is not a single man alive who would hold me on purpose.'

She'd meant it as a small joke, but no humor shaped his grim, well-shaped mouth.

'Mayhap you should stop doing your best to scare off all the men.' His gaze bore into hers, glimmering with knowledge.

'I do no such thing.' She jumped up from the low bedside stool so fast she nearly knocked it to the ground. 'Just because I do not dally with every available man, the way you do with women, does not mean-'

'Do you think I like being forced to marry?' In three strides he'd crossed the room.

'Forced?' She knelt before the fire, hating that she now gazed at his booted feet. 'Your father wants grandchildren. I hardly call that having a gun to your head.'

'To me it is the same.'

'Then you live too easy of a life.' Forced to marry? The dolt knew nothing. Living in a fine house, a hero in his family's eyes, so handsome any woman would fall at his feet and be honored to feel his love. 'No one is threatening to toss you out if you do not marry.'

Silence. Perhaps he would leave now, go so that she need not see him and fight memories of his rock hard chest, so male and so fascinating. And how amazing it felt simply to be touched by a man, by him.

Truly, a foolish thought. He'd held her and it meant nothing to him. There would be no man to love her. No family of her own built on happiness and trust.

She lifted a stick of chopped maple from the ornate brass wood box, something far too fine for holding a stack of wood.

Big fingers curled around her own. Beautiful, blunt-tipped fingers that snapped heat through her bones. Tessa's blood warmed as Jonah knelt beside her and lifted the wood from her grip.

'Allow me.' His voice could caress all common sense from a woman.

'I will allow you nothing.' She released the wood, hoping he would release her hand. He did. He'd meant nothing by touching her. Why did she feel so disappointed? 'We are nearly out of wood.'

Dark eyes sizzled, drawing her closer. 'My brother is bringing more.'

'Aye, I'm not surprised.' Tessa stood, determined to keep her distance. 'A hero such as yourself is too important to carry an armload of wood.'