Spirit Of The Wolf. Susan Mallery
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Название: Spirit Of The Wolf
Автор: Susan Mallery
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: Mills & Boon M&B
isbn: 9781474046923
isbn:
“Stay or not,” he said, turning away. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
Without thinking, she touched his shoulder to stop him. “How can you say that? You’re obviously uncomfortable having me around.”
He spun back to face her, breaking the physical contact between them. “Can you blame me? Nine years ago, I asked you to marry me. Not only did you refuse me with a ridiculous story about staying pure for your healing, you left that same day. As if you couldn’t stand the sight of me. In all this time you’ve never once come to the ranch or spoken with me. When I’ve had business with your brother, you’ve always managed to be gone. So what the hell are you doing here now?”
His raw anger washed over her like lye, burning her, making her wish she’d stayed quiet. Why had she come? Was it about her debt or something else?
“I can’t answer that.” She forced herself to look into his blazing eyes. “I don’t know why. But now that I’m here—” she paused and drew in a breath “—perhaps I should stay.” She could see that there was healing to be done between them. This might be her only opportunity to right the wrong she’d created by her impulsive behavior when she’d left the last time.
He shrugged and started walking. She followed him up the stairs, confused by her own indecision and his fury. So many emotions still boiling between them. So many questions.
They moved down a hallway. There were three open doors, one on the left and two on the right. He entered the former, pushing the door wider. She hesitated until he’d lit a lantern sitting on a small table, then she stepped into the room.
She’d expected him to show her to the small guest room she’d occupied during her last stay. She remembered the pretty floral wallpaper and the four-poster bed that had been so cozy. Instead she stepped into a large room filled with expensive carved furniture, including a dressing table with an oval mirror. Dozens of pillows covered the oversize bed. Lace flounces decorated the window coverings. There were bottles of perfumes and other cosmetics, paintings of horses and portraits of people she’d never seen before.
Ruth could not imagine Caleb living in such feminine splendor, and Caleb didn’t have any sisters. Which meant…
“This was Marie’s room.” He spoke the words without giving away what he was thinking. “I cleaned out most of her things a few weeks ago and aired everything. It’s the only room ready for company. The guest room hasn’t been touched in a couple of years, and I didn’t think you’d be comfortable in my bed.”
She knew he meant that she would be in his bed without him. But his words painted a picture of them together, under the blankets. She could almost feel him touching her, kissing her, taking her and making her his own. She should have been frightened or appalled by the thought, yet she was not. If anything, the sudden trembling of her thighs came from anticipation not disgust.
“Your wife had her own room?”
He glanced around and nodded. “Marie never adjusted to living in Montana. Having this helped her deal with her change in circumstances. Will you mind sleeping here?”
Ruth was not afraid of Marie’s ghost. She had always found the spirits of the recently departed to be kindly, lost souls eager to be on their way.
“The room is very elegant,” she told him. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”
He hesitated, but all he said was, “Good night.”
He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Ruth crossed the floor to press her fingers against the wood. She listened to his footsteps in the hall, then the sound of his own door closing.
She sighed. Nothing was as she’d thought it would be. Why had Caleb’s wife slept in this beautiful room? There were no signs of a man’s presence. Had he moved out after her death?
Ruth turned to face the lace and frills. No. Caleb would not have slept in a space such as this. So he must have had his own room. Why? If she, Ruth, had married him, she would have wanted to spend every night at his side. She couldn’t imagine another woman feeling differently. Of course she’d never met Marie Kincaid.
“Who were you?” she whispered into the darkness. “And why did he marry you?”
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