Jillian Hart - The Horseman

“Who is this beautiful woman in my kitchen?” Dillon clomped across the kitchen in his boots, bringing with him the sting of a winter’s breeze.

The cold clung to his clothes as he wrapped her in a big hug from behind, snuggling her against him, as wonderful as a dream. “Wait, I know who you are. You’re my wife.”

“Imagine that.” She leaned against him, sinking against him. She could close her eyes, relax and stay right here forever. “That’s what happens when you take a woman to the minister. She tends to come home with you and cook your breakfast.”

“I’m just glad you’re here.” His fingers traced the ring on her left hand. His kiss against her brow. Tender. Heartfelt. True.

“Me, too.” It was like a dream, being in his house, in his arms. She flipped the potatoes and he held her, held on. He was about as soft as iron, but his heart, why, it was as genuine as heaven’s light.

It was like a fairy tale, like everything good in the world, and she was living it. Here, in an ordinary kitchen with an ordinary wedding ring on her finger.

And the man she’d married, why, legends could be written about him and still fall short of the truth.

When he kissed her brow, it was like soaring on a wind above mountains. When he tilted her head just enough so he could slant his lips over hers, it was like being lifted into the clouds, so fluffy and sweet.

When he pulled her around to face him, and clasped his strong hands at the small of her back, pulling her against his unyielding chest, it was like gliding in one fast, breathless flight to heaven.

“You didn’t open your present,” he murmured against her lips. “I hurried in just to see the look of delight on your face. Now you’ve disappointed me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sure there’s something you can do to make it up to me.”

“What? Let me think. Oh, I could burn your breakfast.”

“Ah, not what I had in mind.” Chuckling, he released his hold on her just enough to let her turn but not let go.

He kept both hands on her hips and his chest to her back while she flipped and stirred the potatoes and turned the browning bacon strips.

“I’ve got to get the eggs on,” she said, as if she expected him to move away from her.

No force on earth or in heaven was strong enough to make him. Dillon stayed right where he was. Breathed in her sweet female scent and treasured the silken tickle of her hair against his shaven jaw. Filled his fingers with the soft feel of her. Remembered how it had been last night, loving her, inside her, making her his.

His fingers crept across her stomach and cradled her low. He knew she’d had a tough pregnancy and miscarriage, but maybe one day their son would take root.

Their child. Tenderness left him weak.

Having Katelyn in his life…Overcome, he couldn’t find the right words. It had changed everything. Already his life was completely new. Where once he’d been a lonely man with nothing to anchor him, now he had a loving wife and a happy home and a reason to risk building his dreams. For the son that might come along one day.

For the woman who held his heart in her hands.

She didn’t appear to know it as she flipped the eggs with care, the way he’d shown her, to keep the yolks intact. “Today is the sewing circle gathering at Mariah Gray’s house.”

“Need a ride, do you?”

“I don’t like that tone in your voice, sir. You sound mischievous.”

“No, just call me a man who sees an opportunity. You need a ride, and I can hitch up the horse for you. The question is, what will you give me?”

“How about your breakfast served on a plate and not tossed at your head?”

She was laughing. He could feel it move through her, and it was good. She trusted him enough to be playful. “Hey, I’ll behave. All right. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go, all you have to do is say. Just don’t pelt me with fried food in my own kitchen.”

“This is my kitchen now, too.”

“And I thought marrying you would be a good idea.” Chuckling, he pressed kisses into her hair. He loved her so much. And this was only the beginning. Right?

“Go open your present.” He stole the spatula away from her. “I’ll finish up.”

“Hey, it’s my kitchen. I’m in charge.” She stole the spatula back.

“Whoa, there. I didn’t know you were so bossy.”

“That’s what you deserve after the short courtship you gave me.” Laughing, she flipped an egg with a splatter of grease.

“Short? I admit it. You are the first woman I ever courted. I had no notion of what I was doing. I’m pretty inexperienced as a married man, too.”

“That’s not true.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing at him. “You seemed to know what you were doing last night.”

Heat crept up his face. “I, uh, am not without, um, experience.”

“I am a very fortunate woman to have such a skilled husband.” She took delight in the way the pink staining his nose and cheeks changed to a bright, pure red. Even the tips of his ears were red.

Poor Dillon, all six feet of him, so mighty and invincible. And bashful. Then he lifted one shoulder in an uncertain shrug. “Am I skilled enough to make you want to stay?”

“What? Why would I leave?”

“You might regret your decision to stay.” He stole a second spatula from the drawer, not looking at her, keeping his face averted. “This isn’t a life you’re used to. We’ve talked about this.”

“I see.” She tested a yolk, found it done, and flipped the eggs onto a plate. “So you think I’m the kind of shallow and insincere woman who would marry a man so he could take care of me, so I wouldn’t have to work or some such nonsense. Is that what you think?”

“You know it isn’t.”

“No, I don’t.” She removed the pan from the heat, remembering to count before her temper got away from her. “I’m happy here. It would help if you had faith in me.”

“Oh, darlin’, I do.” He snatched the egg-filled platter and carried it, along with his plate of crisp, golden potatoes, to the table. He didn’t look at her. “It’s me. I just want you to say you’re here because you want to be.”

Was that defensiveness? she wondered. How could he not know? What was he trying to tell her? Was he having regrets?

“You haven’t opened your gift.” Cutting her off before she could speak, he shoved the small package across the smooth wood to her.

She didn’t want to open the gift. What she wanted to know was if he were wishing he hadn’t proposed. No, that couldn’t be true, because he’d been so persistent. And last night…Pleasure thrilled through her at the memory of his touch, his kiss, his loving.

She tugged the string and the bow unraveled. She tore away the brown paper to the small wooden box beneath.

A carved box. “You did this?”

He nodded. “I made it a long time ago. I meant to make a cigar box, but it didn’t turn out that way. I figured that maybe it was a sign that I would meet a woman to fall in love with one day. And when I did, I would give it to her.”

“It’s beautiful.” She ran her fingertips over the etched layers of roses embedded in the lustrous cherry-wood grain.

“Look inside.”

Dillon appeared intense, shoulders straight, back straight, his jaw clamped tight. Or was he worried?

She lifted the lid. Inside, on a snug bed of blue satin, winked a row of small diamonds strung on gold. The bracelet felt like a silken thread between her fingers.

“To replace the one you lost. The one your stepfather tried to pay me with.”

“How did you know it was mine?”

“It sure as hell wasn’t his, and a small dainty thing like that wouldn’t fit your mother. That only left you.” He curved his hand against the side of her face, bold and gentle in the same moment.