Page 56 of Mail-Order Bride Substitute
He caught her hands. “I’m fine now.”
Nodding, she stepped back. “I can’t help but worry about you. And be grateful for what you’ve done.”
He still held her hands captive. “I enjoyed keeping you warm.”
She forced her gaze to remain steady even though her pulse fluttered. She pulled free, stepped back, and crossed her arms. “Maybe you’re learning how valuable I am to you.” Ignoring his chuckle, she fled.
He sounded entirely too pleased with himself. She cleaned the kitchen, wiping the table several times simply to delay returning to the other room, and then she was suddenly consumed with urgency to check on him and rushed to his side.
Realizing he might misinterpret her hurry, she sank to the sofa and reached for a book. Before she opened it, he spoke.
“Would you object to showing me the drawings you did this afternoon?”
“Not at all.” She loved talking about her artwork. She stepped inside her bedroom. Gerald had never asked to look at her drawings or admired her paintings. Not even once. And if she’d tried to show him, he’d wave her away. At the time, she put it down to his being too busy with more important things but now she wondered if she should have seen it as a lack of interest in her.
She retrieved her sketch pad from her satchel that had kept the paper dry. Anxious to know what Riley would say of her drawings, she returned to the living room and stopped in front of him.
He sat with his head back, his eyes shut. She looked closer, saw he slept, his breathing deep and steady. She resisted an urge to brush the hair off his forehead, run her finger along the little cut, and touch his lips.
Only to check that he was warm.
But not for a second did she believe her excuse.
She sat on the sofa, facing him, and watched him sleep. He looked younger, more vulnerable. That knowledge brought a desire to take care of him. Of course, that made sense. It’s why she’d come. To marry him and take care of his needs. In exchange, she would have a home where she was accepted. And protected if today’s events indicated anything.
She hugged her arms around herself. It had felt good to be taken care of. Not because she was Harris Tate’s niece or because she came from a life of privilege but only because Riley was a man, and she was a woman. Only because it was the right thing to do.
The time would surely come soon when he would ask her to stay. And she would readily agree. Because she wanted to belong here. At the ranch. In this house.
She did not expect, nor desire, to belong in his heart. Why was she having to say that so often lately? She gently touched his shoulder. “Riley, you need to go to bed.”
He wakened. His eyes were full of sleep, he looked up at her, caught her hand, and pulled her toward him. She gave little resistance. They were face to face. He cupped his hand to the back of her head and drew her closer. She went readily enough though she would not admit she went eagerly.
He lifted his face and kissed her. His lips were warmer than she’d expected, sending a flood of answering heat down her body. It pooled in her heart. She breathed in a tiny sigh. It was enough for Riley to ease back.
She looked into his dark bottomless eyes. Her breath caught between her teeth. The look went on and on, full of an emotion she couldn’t…wouldn’t…name.
She’d kissed Gerald many times. After all, they were supposed to become man and wife. But never had she felt this bursting feeling within her. Like a flower exploding open. Like sunshine flaring through a window and warming one’s skin. Like jumping off a cliff and—rather than falling—floating.
She knew the moment he truly wakened. His eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Sorry? Olivia stepped back, tears filling her heart. She blinked, keeping them out of her eyes. “It’s bedtime.” She kept her attention on the bedroom door.
Riley rose. “Good night, Olivia.”
“Night.” She rushed blindly to her room and leaned against the closed door. She would not, could not love him. He would run fast and far if he thought she’d been so foolish as to forget that he’d specifically asked for a non-romantic marital agreement. Love would quench any hope that he’d marry her and give her the belonging and acceptance she wanted.
She shook her head. Her wet things puddled on the floor. They needed to be hung to dry and the floor wiped. Riley’s door clicked shut and she tiptoed from the room, hung her shirt and skirt on the rack behind the stove, grabbed a rag and hurried to wipe the floor.
Done, she sank to the side of her bed. Her thoughts jumped about like that bunny she’d seen. Hopping from one thing to another. But always returning to their kisses.
Finally, she slammed her palms to her knees. The circumstances were to blame. The storm, the cold, and her concern for Riley’s well-being. That’s all it was. Nothing more. Love couldn’t be trusted. Love wasn’t necessary for a successful marriage. Her aunt and uncle had shown that. Theirs was an arranged marriage. She wanted no more.
That decided, she prepared for bed and crawled beneath the covers. Exhausted from the day, she fell asleep only to have dreams flash through her mind of Riley being lost in the rainstorm. Of her trying to find him, trying to warm him.
The next morning,she studied him closely to see if he suffered any consequences from his wet excursion yesterday. “You’re feeling all right?”
He grinned. “Right as rain. Takes more than a little cold to bother a Shannon.”
