The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree. Ruth Langan

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СКАЧАТЬ as a last resort.”

      “How—” she touched a hand to her throat “—comforting.”

      When the darkened outlines of the cabin and outbuildings came into view, Izzy turned to glance at the children. “They’re all asleep,” she said in hushed tones.

      “They’ll be glad to climb into their beds,” Matt muttered. “And so will we.”

      We. Whatever remained of Izzy’s light mood vanished. She had known, of course, that he would want to sleep in his own bed tonight With her. But she hadn’t allowed herself to think of it. Until now. Sweet salvation. What was she going to do?

      She shivered.

      “You’re cold.”

      “No. Just…”

      Ignoring her protest, he removed his cowhide jacket and draped it around her shoulders. That caused her to shiver more violently. She could feel the heat of his body, and the dark, musky scent of him that lingered in the folds.

      As they neared the cabin the hounds leapt out of the darkness, setting up a chorus of barking that had the children sitting up, rubbing their eyes. Even before the wagon came to a stop the dogs had jumped into the back, tails thumping, tongues licking as they greeted their family.

      “You can all get out here,” Matt called, “except for Aaron. He and I will get this carcass into the barn and gut it before we go to sleep.”

      “Yes, sir.” Though the boy had been sound asleep just minutes before, he helped Izzy down, then climbed up and took the space beside his father.

      Izzy watched the silhouette of man and boy as the wagon rolled toward the barn. When it disappeared inside, she turned and followed the others into the cabin.

      Benjamin, half-asleep, was busy getting a fire started. Clement struck a match to the wick of a lantern and set it on the table. Del raced around collecting her precious chickens and shooing them out to the barn. When their chores were completed, the three children climbed the ladder to their sleeping loft.

      “Good night, Isabella,” they called.

      “Good night.” Izzy stepped gingerly around the chicken droppings and made her way to the fire, where she stood shivering. It wasn’t the chill of the cabin that had put this ice in her veins, she realized. It was knowing what was to come.

      She’d known, of course. When she’d answered the letter. When she’d pulled up stakes and headed across the country. When she’d set foot on this mountain. She wasn’t addled. She knew what a man expected of a wife. And she was fairly certain she could comply. It’s just that it was so…unappealing to her. No, that wasn’t the word. It was frightening. Terrifying. Sickening. Loathsome. But she would find a way to get through it, as she had found a way to get through so many other disgusting and painful things in her life.

      She picked up the lantern and a basin of warm water and made her way to the bedroom, taking care to close the door. She set the basin on a small table and took no notice of the litter as she sank down on the edge of the bed and began to undress. As she had the previous night, she placed the knife under the pillow, then removed her gown and petticoats, her shoes and stockings and chemise. One by one she washed them in the basin and hung them on pegs to dry. Then she proceeded to wash herself.

      She was shivering by the time she slipped the simple ivory night shift over her head. She carefully fastened the row of buttons that ran from throat to waist. In the bottom of her valise she found the hairbrush with the worn handle. Unpinning her hair, she began to brush until the tangles were smoothed. She set the brush on the dresser top, refusing to glance at her reflection in the cracked oval mirror. It wasn’t necessary. She knew what she looked like.

      She’d been plain all her life. Plain and…invisible. At least for the most part. Of course, there were times when men had noticed her. But she had always dreaded those times even more. Because then she’d had to fight to hold on to the only thing no man had ever been able to take from her—her honor.

      And now she was about to relinquish it willingly. Not for love. But for some feeble attempt to belong. She closed her eyes a moment, struggling against the tears that threatened. Then she straightened as she heard the cabin door open and close; heard muted voices as father and son bade good-night; heard the creak of the ladder as Aaron climbed to the loft She felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as the bedroom door opened and closed.

      She turned to face Matt and felt a jolt to the midsection. His clothes, his hands, his arms to the elbows were covered with blood. It streaked his beard and was smeared down the front of his shirt.

      “Sorry.” Seeing the way she was staring at him, he began to unbutton his shirt. “Gets pretty messy gutting a deer. I usually clean up in the barn, but there wasn’t any water in the bucket, and it was so late and so cold, I figured I’d just do it in here.”

      “Yes. Of course.” She forced herself into action. “There’s a basin here. When you’ve finished washing, I’ll soak your clothes overnight. I should be able to get most of that blood out.”

      He sat on the edge of the bed and nudged off his boots, then peeled away the bloody shirt Crossing to the basin, he began to scrub the blood from his hands and arms, his torso, his face.

      While he washed, Izzy stood to one side watching. She couldn’t seem to look away. Never had she seen such a man. His skin was tanned and bronzed from his years in the sun. His body was lean and hard and muscled. With each movement the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and tightened. At the sight of it, she gave an involuntary shiver.

      He was so big. So strong. A man like that could be rough. Or cruel. She shivered again.

      When he was finished washing, he lathered his face, picked up a straight razor and began to remove his beard.

      Izzy watched in fascination, wondering what he would look like. With each stroke his features became more visible. Now the lower half of his face matched the thoughtful forehead, the dark, penetrating eyes. He had handsome, sculptured cheekbones. Wide, firm lips. A cleft in his chin. He looked so much younger. No more than perhaps thirty-five, she calculated. When she caught him watching her in the mirror, she blushed and turned away, busying herself with his discarded clothes.

      Matt continued watching her while he finished shaving. He couldn’t quite figure Isabella out. There was an earthiness about her. In the way she’d laughed when they discussed the preacher. Some ladies might have been outraged by the display of drunkenness. But though she’d been shocked, she hadn’t seemed offended. And there was an innocence in her, as well. In her eyes, when she thought no one was looking. In the way she seemed to devour everything in sight, as though trying to take it all in at once.

      She was a bit small for his taste. Too fragile looking. But she had beautiful eyes. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her. Eyes more green than blue. Unless she was angry. And then they took on an amber hue that was fascinating. Like storm clouds rolling over a summer sky.

      Her hair defied description. He’d thought it to be brown, until the sunlight had touched it today. Then he had discovered rich red strands, and some the shade of honey. He liked her hair like that, long and loose and curling around that small, fair face.

      He felt a purely male reaction to her, enjoying the contrast between the pristine gown buttoned clear to her throat and the spill of lush hair inviting him to touch. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad СКАЧАТЬ