Sandra Steffen - The Bounty Hunter's Bride

She tried to hold a grudge, really she did, but she didn’t have it in her to stay angry at this man. She’d hoped he had a gentle side. Like the tip of an iceberg, she was glimpsing it now.

“I know it’s no excuse,” he said. “But I’m not used to all this inactivity. Sitting around is driving me crazy.”

She studied him thoughtfully for several seconds. He’d had another bath that morning, but this time he’d insisted upon doing everything himself. The nick in his chin was the result of shaving with his left hand. Other than that, he’d managed quite well. His light brown hair was clean, the color of his skin more healthy looking. He’d come to her injured and bleeding. The flicker of emotion way in the back of his eyes made her think that his shoulder hadn’t been his most serious wound. The realization was dredged from a place beyond logic and reason, a place where there were only shimmery emotions and yearnings older than time.

He’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t want or need anybody. Need was a funny thing. It could hide deep inside a person, going undetected for years, until one day you noticed it squeezing into your thoughts, into your sighs, into your soul. Kane might not have realized it yet, but he needed a woman’s softness, a woman’s gentleness, a woman’s strength. Not just any woman’s. He needed hers.

Going back to her stew, she said, “Apology accepted. And you’re welcome. Now, I hope this stew gets done soon. There’s nothing like trailing a potential supper for hours to give me an appetite.”

She handed him the silverware and told him to make himself useful. She noticed he set the table restaurant style, the fork on the left, spoon and knife on the right. Somebody had taught him manners. Feeling suddenly buoyant, she smiled and said, “It was beautiful out there today. I don’t understand what you don’t like about the Blue Ridge Mountains. They’re just so pretty. Did you know that on a clear day you can see seven states from Lookout Mountain?”

Kane shook his head and lowered onto a straight-back chair. Barely taking enough time to draw a deep breath, Josie continued. “Tennessee is called the big bend state. Wanna know why?”

Kane shrugged. Sure, why not? He was getting used to listening to her stories.

“Because,” she said, her long wooden spoon sending steam wafting from the pot of bubbling stew. “The Tennessee River bends in the middle and flows through the state twice. Bubba Jones told me that in the third grade. He went to Texas to be a rodeo champion. He couldn’t hit a bull in the butt with a bass fiddle, let alone ride one, but he ended up marrying a rich widow from Portland, Oregon way. Strange how some things work out, isn’t it?”

Kane stared across the small room. He felt dizzy. That happened a lot when he tried to make sense of what Josie said.

She talked on, telling him about people he’d never heard of and places he never planned to go. He glanced up in surprise when she placed the pot of stew on the table and began ladling a healthy portion into his bowl. Breathing in the mouthwatering aroma, he said, “I can’t believe there are still women alive who can shoot supper, clean it, dress it, cook it and still have the stomach to eat it after all that.”

She dropped onto a chair opposite him and scooped up a spoonful of stew. “It’s given me a good understanding of why some people become vegetarians. They say they can’t eat the flesh of living creatures. Plants were alive, too, once. How do we know they don’t have feelings? I once read that there’s an entire segment of our population that talks to their roses and tomatoes and whatnot. I think the human race has to eat something, don’t you?”

Kane stared across the table, spoon poised in midair.

“What?” she asked.

“Oh,” he said, lowering his spoon to his bowl, “I was just thinking that you’re really nothing like I expected a mountain woman to be.”

“And how’s that?”

Waiting to answer until after he’d taken his first bite of supper, he said, “Bear in mind that what little knowledge I have of mountain people is based on Beverly Hillbillies reruns.”

“I’m definitely no Granny, and I’m afraid I’m not built like Elly May.”

“You don’t wear a bra.” He clamped his mouth shut. Where had that come from?

Her smile set his teeth on edge. “There’s something to be said for small breasts, isn’t there?”

He groaned inwardly, his gaze straying below her shoulders. There was something to be said for her small breasts. Dragging his gaze away from the gentle slopes evident through the white fabric of her shirt, he cleared his throat and took another bite of stew. He tried not to think about kissing her taut nipples, tried not to wonder if he would be the first.

It was lucky for him that she didn’t seem to mind keeping up a one-sided conversation. Funny, a few days ago he hadn’t thought there was anything lucky about it. A few days ago he hadn’t felt a surging desire when he least expected it. A few days ago he hadn’t eaten two bowls of rabbit stew without tasting any of it.

She didn’t look at him again until her bowl was empty. Only then did her gaze meet his from the other side of the table. She smiled, and he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He did his best to return her grin, but it wasn’t easy, when what he wanted to do was vault over the table and kiss her the way he had the other day in the bath.

“Had enough?” she asked.

Enough? Oh, enough stew. “Yes. Plenty. Thanks.”

“Then we’d better get to it.”

He gulped. “It?”

“You said you’re going stir-crazy. The activity will be good for you.”

Activity? Something intense flared through him, something he wasn’t certain he’d ever felt in exactly this way. It was the knowledge that she was a virgin. It messed with a man’s head, making him think about the darnedest things. It took the simplicity out of a man wanting a woman. And Kane believed in keeping things simple.

“Come on, Kane, let’s dance.”

“Dance? That’s what you want to do...dance?”

“What did you think?”

Since Kane wasn’t about to admit what he’d been thinking, he said, “There’s no music.”

She started to hum. Seconds later she broke out into song. Lord, there she went with the singing again.

“Come on, Kane,” she said, drawing him with her to the center of the room.

“I can’t dance,” he said, stalling.

Totally undeterred, she placed his good hand on her shoulder and his other one on her waist, talking all the while. “I’ve watched every Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie ever made a hundred times. I can teach even a mule with four left feet to dance.”

She hummed a few bars of the “Tennessee Waltz.”

“Josie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, inching closer. “I’ll be real careful of your bad shoulder. There, how’s that?”

She started humming again, swaying slightly, easing him into his first step. “Dancin’ ain’t—isn’t—hard. It’s like playing leapfrog or making love.”

He swallowed, his feet moving him around the room, her voice sending his thoughts to the other side of the moon. “It’s all about trust and consent, about swaying this way and dipping that way. You hold me just so. And I hold you just so. There. Feel that?”

Kane felt that, all right. He felt her breasts against his chest and her hair under his chin. He felt her breath on his neck and her thighs between his. He felt a lot more than he cared to admit. It left him warm and wanting, and he didn’t want to stop.

Deciding for once it might be best to keep her talking, he said, “Would you tell me something, Josie?”