in disbelief and, beaming happiness, bustled into the hall.
“Am I right? Are you hungry?” He approached the bed, his plate an offering he held out to her.
“What about you? Where’s yours?”
“Don’t tell anyone. I sampled the food in the kitchen. Ate enough to get me by.” He drew up the hard-backed chair and eased his big frame into it. “I suppose you’re used to food prepared better than I can make it, but at least it’s hot and edible.”
“It smells wonderful.” Her mouth was watering, and she supposed it couldn’t hurt to accept the food. She did need to regain her strength. “I didn’t know men could cook.”
“I grew up in a house of six brothers and no mother. My father cooked until I was ten, and then I took over.” He grabbed an extra pillow and tucked it behind her when she sat up.
He was so close she could feel his body’s heat, a strange radiation of warmth and man that curled through her. He smelled good, too, masculine and woodsy.
“Is that comfortable?” His gaze met hers, a connection more jarring than if they’d touched.
A connection that chased the air from her lungs and turned her mind into a muddled confusion. She managed to nod, since she couldn’t seem to find any words to speak with.
“Good.” Satisfied, he whipped a tray from where it rested against the nightstand, stowed, she guessed, from last night’s tea. He set it on her lap to serve as a bed tray.
“Your breakfast, ma’am. Cooked special just for you.”
“What about the other guests?” she asked as he slid the plate in front of her. “Didn’t you cook for them at the same time?”
“You’re confusing a courting man. I’ve heard, in some social circles, that isn’t polite behavior.” A slight flush crept across his high, proud cheekbones. “I expected more of you, Katelyn.”
“A courting man? I thought you expected to own me outright. Just as my stepfather promised.” She set her chin, braced and ready.
One dark brow shot up in a face that didn’t look cruel or angry. No, not Hennessey with his penetrating stare and his capable hands that could lure a wild stallion on a starlit night. His touch could lure her, too, as the weight of his palm settled on her shoulder, right in the curve of her neck. His thumb stroked a daring circle in the hollow of her throat.
It was a possessive touch. She wanted to hate it. Wanted to tell him to leave her be. But it wasn’t only possessive.
“This may be a free country, but it is a man’s country.” He looked about as understanding as steel. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to force you into marrying me. I’m not that kind of man. But it’s my hope you might consider it.”
“Are you proposing to me again?”
“No. I’m courting you. Proposing would put the cart before the horse. I’ve learned that never works well.”
“But my stepfather’s offer-” She couldn’t say the words. She couldn’t admit that she was a woman no man would want. Besides, she didn’t have to say it. Everyone at the ranch knew her situation, surely the horseman did, too. Why was she even wondering? She didn’t want to be courted.
“Willman’s offer was a cruel one. I helped you out of that house because the truth is, I’ve never seen such a fine woman as you. I’m not much, but remember I’ve got my own piece of the Montana prairie, I work hard and I’ll be better to you than any man in this country.”
“You’d want to dominate me as you do those horses you break.” She wasn’t fooled, although the allure of his voice, the strength in him, hooked her like a fish in water, pulling her toward him when she wanted to escape.
His thumb traced up the line of her throat. Caressed the curve of her chin. Mesmerizing. Brett had never touched her the way Hennessey did. As if he wanted to comfort her. And the pleasure of it…
She squeezed her eyes shut, her entire being shut, against the need for it.
“I don’t break horses.” He leaned close until his words were a whisper against her ear. “I show them they can trust me.”
“Trust? I’ve seen how horses are broken to ride.”
“You haven’t seen the way I’ve done it.” He knew she hadn’t watched him through the window, the way he’d watched her. Or she would know he did not wound a horse’s spirit. He did not use spurs. He did not use a whip.
He used touch and language. Would it work on a woman? He was ignorant on such matters. Not one thing in his life had ever been as important as this moment. As this woman.
“My father was a horseman.” Affection changed her, took down her defenses, and the tension vanished beneath his fingers.
“Was he? The ranch was his, then.”
“Long ago. I was six when he died. Just old enough to really remember him. To understand the void in my life when he passed.”
“Was it an accident?” Plenty of men died breaking horses. It was common in his profession.
“He fell ill in the spring and was gone by midsummer.” The sadness lingered.
Dillon could feel it in her as if it were his own. She’d loved her father. And he knew how it must have gone. A widow alone with a ranch to run, land and horses worth a small fortune, and the ruthless banker who loved money more than anything. Yep, that pretty much explained the situation he’d witnessed on Katelyn’s family ranch. And the stepdaughter who’d been married off to improve the family’s standing.
She hadn’t married because of love.
That was important to know. Dillon kept that in the back of his mind. A woman wanted to be loved, no different than a man did. Wanted to find the missing piece of her heart.
Just like he did.
He traced the cup of his palm down the round of her shoulder and the length of her arm. Watching as she eased into his touch. It was a subtle thing, the way she moved into his caress like a cat wanting to be stroked. She didn’t appear to move at all. But he felt it, a slight lifting, or maybe it was a wish for affection.
It was the first step in this perilous wish of his.
“Eat up before the food gets cold.” He released her, breaking the contact but not the connection.
She lifted her fork and took a tentative bite. After the taste of the cheesy eggs registered on her tongue, her eyes lit up. “It’s very good. Thank you.”
Another step. Small but sure. Pleasure filled him to the brim. “You’re surely welcome.”
Her shy smile was all the encouragement he needed. Casually, as if he had nothing to lose, he dragged a book from the shelf on the night table. A book he’d dug from the bottom of one of his saddlebags.
“Do you like Dickens?” he asked.
She shone a little brighter. “I love him.”
More certain now, Dillon opened to the first page to the start of Pip’s adventure. It was a good thing he’d read the book more times than he could count, or he’d be stumbling over his tongue. How did a man concentrate on anything when his hands were damp and sweat was breaking out on his brow?
This must be the reason why he’d never courted before. The worry of it was likely to kill a less hardy man.
He read, while she ate, doing his best to concentrate on the story when she was right there in front of him, setting him on fire, making him feel as if his chest was wide open again and she could look right in and see everything he was.
And everything he wasn’t.
What would it take for her to want him? What would it take for a man like him to earn her love?
He was about to find out.
It’s my hope you might consider it, he’d said. Consider marrying him.
She tried to put that thought out of her mind. Every time she looked at him, it returned. Over and over until she had to face it. Her stepfather had given her to Hennessey. And he was trying to court her in his fumbling, unskilled manner.
While she knew the story nearly by heart, he was ruining Dickens’s narrative. Stumbling and losing his place and pretending he wasn’t.
Brett had courted her with all the right words and all the right gifts. He’d been perfect and charming and in control, making her feel as if he could take care of anything.
