The Horseman

“Sweet lady, I’m not nearly good enough.” He offered her his arm, gallant as a knight in flawless shining armor.

She slipped her arm in his and they walked to their house together.

Tiny, perfect snowflakes filled the air, as crisp and as light as spun sugar. Sifting like grace over the land, over Dillon.

Over her.

Chapter Fourteen

“Did you get enough to eat?” Dillon asked as he grabbed the tea tray, leaving the full cup of sweetened tea on the bedside table. She’d eaten all but a few crumbs of the snack he’d brought up with a pot of chamomile tea. “I can run down and get you another slice of cake. Or some tea. I’ll brew up a pot for you.”

“No, I’m fine.” Katelyn smiled at him from the bed, where a pile of plump feather pillows braced her as she sat up, her book open in her lap. A colorful afghan covered her and kept her warm.

“Do you need something else before you settle down for the night? Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich.”

“Really, I’m fine.” Her eyes danced at him. She was trying not to laugh at him again.

He didn’t blame her. He was new at being a husband. It was harder than he’d thought. It would take some learning, that was for sure.

He found refuge in the hallway out of her sight. He took the steps two at a time, the ring of his boots echoing all around him, but the house didn’t feel empty with her here. He didn’t mind the dark corners and shadows where no light reached in the parlor and the kitchen where the table waited in darkness.

There was a peace in the house now, because of her, the mercy she’d brought with her in her smile, with her presence, with the way she smelled like springtime and everything good in the world. Everything beautiful.

You’re a lucky man, Hennessey. She’d chosen him, not because she had no choice but because she wanted to be with him. Right here, in a humble log cabin with horses, with him, just the way he was.

He might not be a fine enough man for her, able to offer her a luxurious life. But he’d give her something more. He would give her everything he had, everything he was, everything he would be.

He would treat her well, with all his good intentions. He’d never hurt her, never make her sad or unhappy. He’d take the sadness from her heart and chase away the shadows from her eyes, from her soul. As he’d done in the paddock today, when the wild stallion had eaten from the palm of her hand. She’d seemed lighter, as if she’d let go of something that had been weighing her down.

Maybe she was beginning to heal. That was a good thing.

He heard the squeak of a loose board and the pad of her step in the necessary room overhead. Brushing her teeth, he figured, getting ready for the night ahead. He thought only of her as he rinsed the tea things and set them in the wash basin for morning. He climbed the stairs, following the faint glow of her bedside lamp that grew brighter and brighter, drawing him close until he was passing through the threshold.

She sure improved the room by being in it. He swore that he would forever remember her like this, with the subdued golden lamplight burnishing her with a celestial glow, like an angel on high.

He burned into his memory the way she turned the page at the upper corner with a graceful turn of her wrist, her brow furrowed, her concentration sharp as she read. The soft movement of her mouth as she sipped at her tea. The way her hand cupped the mug as if to draw in all its warmth.

He loved how she lit up from the inside when she saw him.

“Enjoying your book?”

“I’m riveted.” Katelyn’s left hand rested against the page, holding her place, but her attention, all of it, was on him. “I should be asleep by now. I’m exhausted. I just can’t seem to stop reading.”

“Me, either. I’ve got my book downstairs. I’ll pick it up tonight, meaning only to read a chapter, and the next time I’ll look up, it’ll be midnight. You watch. That happens to me all the time.”

“Me, too.” She tried to stifle a yawn, but she couldn’t. Her hand flew to her mouth. Tears brimmed her eyes, and she chuckled. “I’m not sleepy. Really. I can read one more chapter.”

“Darlin’, you can say it, but that doesn’t mean it will be true.”

“I know.” She set her cup aside.

He watched, spellbound, as she raised both arms. The fleecy soft flannel nightgown she wore strained over the generous curve of her breasts.

She plucked the hairpins from the knot in the back of her head and his blood thundered in his veins. Lustrous locks of her hair tumbled down like a shower of rare, perfect gold and nearly dropped him to his knees.

He could still see her in the tub, with the water pearled on her skin, bare and enticing. He fisted his hands when he wanted to reach out and touch her. Strip the flannel from her breasts and caress her the way the light did. Reverently and thoroughly until she wanted him, wanted more. Until she opened up to him like a flower to sun and, oh, the pleasure he’d give her-

If you follow that thought to its natural conclusion, your heart’s going to explode, man. Like a keg of gunpowder. Dillon pulled back on the reins. He wanted her with a force that would put a tornado to shame and outblow every blizzard that had ever hit the Montana plains.

But he was a patient man. He believed in self-control. “Let me help you with that.”

“Oh?” She looked surprised, even startled, and it was something, when he thought about it, how little she expected. As if she wasn’t used to anyone caring for her.

I care for you. A wave of tenderness left him speechless. He took the brush from her fingers settled beside her on the bed. The ropes groaned with his weight, and it was different being alone in the bedroom with her this time.

This was his bed she was sitting in. The bed where he’d always slept alone and never thought there would be a woman to sleep beside. And never such a lovely, gentle-hearted woman to hold in his arms. To cherish forever.

He filled up with the significance of it. A love like this came along once in a man’s lifetime, if he were lucky.

He’d never brushed a woman’s hair before, and he didn’t know if he was doing it right. Too hard? Too light? The bristles disappeared into those radiant locks and as he stroked downward she drew in a satisfied mew. She liked this, did she?

The bristles reached the long, curled ends of her hair and the strands crackled. The scent of wild roses filled his nose and sparked his blood.

He rested the bristles at the crown of her head and stroked downward, listening to the crackle of her hair. He breathed in the woman and floral scent of her, and desire thudded through every inch of him. Every hard inch.

I want you so much, my love. He ran the brush through her hair again, and she lifted up imperceptibly, as if she were enjoying it.

“Do you like this? Does it feel good?” he murmured against the soft pink shell of her ear.

He felt pleasure move through her, traveling down her spine in a luxurious, tingling thrill. He knew her answer before she nodded, felt the truth of her feelings for him, so new and tender.

“You have beautiful hair. Hmm.” He raked his fingers through fine threads of gold silk and breathed in. Crushed them in his hand, so soft.

He relaxed his hand, and the curls sprang free, cascading down her slim neck and over her shoulders. Amazing. Love for her glided through him, like a bird on a hard wind, lifting him higher and higher until he felt tall with it, great with it. This love he had for her had no end, no boundary, no measure.

One day soon, she was going to want him. She was going to long for the pleasure of his touch. She would be the one to step into his arms and give him her kiss. She would pull back the covers and invite him into their bed. She would let him unbutton those buttons again and this time run his hand down the creamy valley between her perfect breasts over the soft curve of her