a hot branding iron. “You will not work as long as you are my wife.”
“Then perhaps it is wrong to consider me for your spouse.”
She watched him draw in a deep breath and step back. His eyes glittered. “We will discuss this in the morning.”
“There is nothing to discuss,” she replied. After bending to pick up her bundle, she moved to her doorway. “Good night, Castillo.” With one last look over her shoulder, she gently closed the door and left him standing there.
****
Sleep came in elusive spurts. One small burst, then worry pried her eyelids open. His name remained upon her lips. Hopeless, she sat up and swiped the grains of sand from her eyes. In the soft light of the moon, she watched the curtains dance in the cool night air. It called to her.
She rose, padded to the window, and looked down upon the silvery landscape. An overwhelming sense of sadness washed across her body. Why? A single tear slid across her cheek. Her life seemed to be unraveling. She’d lost her brother, her virginity, and now possibly her business, all in one week. It had to be a record, even for an Irishman.
Her hand drew into a fist as she thought about his insistence that she would sell. The freight business had sustained Daniel and her through the loss of their parents. It seemed wrong to give it up now. She wilted to her knees. Grasping the sill, she hung her head and prayed. “Holy Mother Mary,” she whispered. “Help me in my hour of need. I have sinned against God, but I love him.”
In the darkness, the words sent a shiver down her backbone. She did love him. The window was just high enough that she could fold her arms across and lay her head down. Her wound pulled. She ignored it. She was so tired, yet so many questions had no answers. It would be easy to let go and let him take over, but that would mean bending her stiff Irish neck.
If she were any other woman, she’d be giddy over the prospect of a wedding. Yet this felt wrong—and then again so right. Yes, she found Trace attractive. Her body responded to him like no other. Of course, her experience with love had been a kiss or two at a church social, but there had been no burning need.
Their lovemaking harbored no regrets. On the contrary, she’d enjoyed it. The admission of the guilty pleasure invited the devilish warmth to return. She sighed. Not only to her cheeks but lower, to that hidden place good girls didn’t touch.
Would it be so wrong to marry?
The question brought another sigh, but no answer. She stared at the twinkling stars until they faded in the pale light of morning with nothing resolved. As the morning light bathed her face, she heard the slam of the door across the hallway and jumped. She leaned her head over and listened to the angry stomp of his boots. No, she thought, he had not slept any better than she.
Rising, she moved back and spread up the bed. She might as well get this over with. Opening her wardrobe, she pulled out a calico dress and began to get herself ready for the day. Her arm still stiff, her movements jerky, she could dress herself. After running the brush through her tangle of curls, she went out the door and down the stairway.
Pausing at the end of the steps, she listened to the sounds coming from the back of the house. Moving quietly, she made her way to the kitchen, where he’d left the back door ajar. Peeking past the door, she could see him stripped to the waist, chopping wood. His muscles rippled as he bent down and placed a single log upon the block. Eyeing his move, he lifted the handle with two hands and swung down. She flinched when the blade whacked the piece of wood square in the center. The timber coughed and then whined as he wiggled the blade.
Her gaze rolled over his shoulders as they took on a sheen from the humidity. Straining against his skin, they lifted the log attached to the ax blade, and when he sent it crashing down onto the block, the log split neatly in two. Her fingers ached to touch that bronzed skin. It proved to be sheer torture to watch. Yet when he turned around, she scurried from view and opened the pie safe in search of