Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Second Chance Bride
Except, as I watch Wynonna set the table, I'm forced to confront the lie in that thought. I haven't made peace with being the last. It's why I signed up for that damn mail-order bride service in the first place. My land deserves to be passed down, to be loved by future generations. To continue being Stone land long after I'm gone.
"Shit!" The curse escapes as I slam the heavy wooden cabinet door directly onto my finger, distracted by my own thoughts.
"Josiah!" Wynonna is at my side instantly. "Let me see."
I cradle my hand, throbbing pain radiating from my index finger. "It's fine."
"Don't be stubborn." She takes my hand gently but firmly, examining the injury. The finger is already swelling, a dark blue line forming beneath the nail. "You need ice."
She leads me to a chair and sits me down, then grabs a dish towel and fills it with ice from the freezer. The confident way she wraps it around my hand speaks of experience.
"Used to patch up my dad after work accidents," she explains, noticing my surprise. "Mom got good at home treatment and taught me everything she knew."
Her hands are gentle but sure as they cradle my much larger one, and something shifts in my chest—a softening I can't afford.
"Thanks," I manage gruffly.
"It's going to bruise, but I don't think the nail will come off," she says, examining it more closely. Then, before I can react, she lifts my hand and presses her lips to the injured finger.
Her eyes meet mine as her lips linger against my skin, and I see the exact moment something mischievous flares in her expression. Slowly, deliberately, she parts her lips and takes the tip of my finger into her mouth.
"Wynonna." My voice emerges as a strangled moan, but she doesn't stop.
Her tongue swirls around my fingertip, her eyes never leaving mine as she sucks gently. The sensation shoots straight to my groin, and I'm instantly, painfully hard. My breath catches audibly, and I know she hears it because her lips curve into a slight smile around my finger.
When she finally releases it, the cool air on my wet skin only emphasizes the absence of her warm mouth.
"Old superstition," she says, voice honey-sweet but eyes knowing. "Kissing an injury makes it heal faster."
"Pretty sure that's not how the superstition goes," I manage, desperately trying to ignore the throbbing ache in my pants.
She shrugs, her expression the picture of innocence that her actions disprove. "Must have learned a different version."
I clear my throat and shift in the chair, grateful for the table hiding my obvious reaction.
"Those few dates you mentioned," I ask as an excuse to change the subject. "Nothing serious?"
If she's surprised by the personal question, she doesn't show it. "No. Nothing serious." She pauses, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. "Nothing physical either, actually."
I can't hide my surprise at that. A beautiful woman like her, alone for ten years?
She must read my expression because she adds, "I've been saving myself. Might sound old-fashioned, but," Her eyes meet mine, unflinching despite the vulnerability in them. "I was waiting for someone worth waiting for."
The implication hits me with the force of a physical blow. She's been saving herself. For me.
The moment stretches between us, charged with unspoken possibilities. I break it first, needing distance from this revelation that makes her even more dangerous to my resolve.
We finish dinner in a silence heavier than before, each of us acutely aware of the current running between us. And as I watch her move around my kitchen, her quiet strength and determination evident in every gesture, I'm struck by a realization I can no longer deny.
God help me, but I'm not taking her to that bus tomorrow either.
five
Wynonna
Iclosethedoorto the spare room and lean against it, my heart still racing from that moment in the kitchen. The look on Josiah's face when I took his finger into my mouth—surprise, heat, and something darker that made my stomach flip—plays on repeat in my mind. I've never been so bold with a man before, but something about Josiah makes me braver than I've ever been.
For the first time since arriving, I feel certain he sees me as a woman, not just Frank Crow's little girl.
