Carolyn Davidson - The Bride

She yearned now for the familiar place where she’d been born, where her childhood years had been spent in the company of Clara, the cook, the woman who had loved her and tended her after her mother’s death over ten years ago. She recalled those days of her childhood, remembering the faint images of her mother that still lived in her mind. The times she had spent with the woman who had borne her and loved her.

For hours on end her mother had told her of her future, the man she would come to love, the family she would have, the children her husband would give her. It had been a much-loved story, one she had dreamed of as a child, living on the ranch, growing up there.

Amazing that even as a child, such a life was all she had ever yearned for. That the thought of marriage had so appealed to her, with an unknown man, sharing his home with her, his love for her already taken for granted.

It had not come about as her mother promised, for now she was still a girl, not yet twenty, and the man who held her against himself was a stranger, certainly not a man her mother would have chosen. And for a moment, Isabella was glad that her mother was gone, for her plight now would bring only heartbreak to any mother whose child was in danger.

The horses slowed their speed, their canter changing to a trot, which left Isabella in discomfort, for she could not adjust herself to the harsh gait without anything to steady her in the saddle, only the man’s right hand on his reins, his left arm snug around her middle.

“We’ll stop before long,” Rafael said, his voice low against her ear as they turned from one road to another, this one more of a trail, with only two tracks forming the way. There were tracks where buggies or wagons had traveled through the mud of the rainy season, making deep wedges in the dirt.

His horse walked now, on the grass at the side of the double track, his men following his example, one of them calling out suddenly as he pointed to the west.

“Over there, Rafael. There’s a barn for shelter. Perhaps not in good shape, but fit for a night’s stay.”

“Yes.” With but a single word, Rafael agreed to his man’s signal and turned his stallion toward the building that sat on the horizon, alone in a place where there should have been a house, perhaps, or outbuildings of some sort. As they traveled closer, Isabella saw the reason for the barn’s singular desolation, for the burned ribs of a house stood beyond the dilapidated building, and several smaller sheds stood empty between the barn and the former house that had long since burned.

“There’s no one about. No one to ask permission of, so we’ll just camp here,” he said to his men, slowing his stallion as they rode ahead and dismounted before the barn. One opened the big door, a task almost too much for one man, for the door seemed to have been in its tracks for a long time.

Yet, once it was opened, a cat strolled out from the dim depths of the building, as if she’d been disturbed from a nap and had come to greet the newcomers.

“At least it should be relatively mouse-free,” Rafael said with a smothered laugh. He rode past the gray-and-white creature who had paused to wash her paws in the middle of the doorway, and grudgingly moved a bit as the big hooves of the stallion stirred up the dust beside her.

“You don’t frighten her,” Manuel told the horse, rubbing the long nose with a gentle hand. “She’s a spunky one.”

“Very like the one on my lap,” Rafael told him quickly. His arm tightened as Isabella jolted angrily at his gibe.

“Let me down,” she said cuttingly. “I need to find some privacy.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said coolly. “Privacy is in short supply. You can look for a corner to use, but in my sight.”

She shivered at his words. “You don’t mean that.”

“Ah, but I do,” he answered, loosening his arm from her middle as he slid from his saddle with an ease of movement she envied. Her legs were stiff, her back sore from forcing herself to sit upright for hours on end, and she wasn’t sure she had any feeling in her feet, so numb were they from hanging loose on either side of his stallion.

He reached for her and lifted her down, standing her upright before himself, not releasing his hold on her until she jerked from his touch.

“I don’t want you to fall,” he said quietly. “Don’t push me away.”

“Just turn me loose,” she said, her words a plea, as she looked about the interior of the barn, seeking a spot where she might find privacy. A back door hung ajar, opening onto a flat area, perhaps a corral, she thought, so she began making her way in that direction. His hand held her arm and he walked beside her, closely, as though ready to catch her if she should falter.

Not willing to show a sign of weakness, she tossed him an arrogant glance and pulled her arm from his fingers. “I want to go outdoors by myself, please.”

As if her final word, the small courtesy she’d offered touched him, he paused, looking beyond her to where the twilight had fallen, where the open space beckoned her. “I’ll stay by the door,” he said, moderating his stance a bit. “Don’t go out of sight.”

She walked with him to the opening, pushing the door aside, its one connecting hinge squeaking with a noise that startled the cat, who had trailed after Isabella. The small creature jumped atop a musty stack of hay and darted behind it, hiding herself from the watching men who seemed amused at her antics.

Isabella stood alone in the opening, Rafael behind her, his warmth tempting her as the wind caught in the high rafters of the loft above and whistled past them through the opening in the low ceiling. She peered out into the dusk and spotted a small building just beyond the corral fencing.

“I’ll walk over there,” she said, pointing to where the ramshackle structure stood at a lopsided angle.

“I’ll be sure it’s safe,” he said, walking ahead of her and looking within the door that hung ajar. “It’s empty,” he said, pushing the door open farther so that she could enter more readily.

With a look of clear warning in his direction, she entered the dark, dingy shed and found a modicum of privacy there. The knowledge that he stood just outside the door should have bothered her, she supposed, but somehow his presence gave her a sense of security and she ignored her natural inclination toward independence. If the man wanted to watch over her, so be it. She’d choose a more important fight, somewhere down the road.

And she realized as she left the crude shelter that she’d already accustomed herself to the presence of Rafael McKenzie in her life.

THE LOFT IN THE BARN held a sparse amount of hay, left from another year’s harvest, but with a few industrious swipes of a broken rake, the men managed to scrape up several piles around the edges of the floor. It was to one of these that Isabella was led, just as dark enveloped the earth and the barn was thrust into a midnight hue.

She stood before the sparse bed he’d offered and looked up at Rafael. “Surely you could locate a feather tick?” she asked tauntingly. “Or at least a blanket to cover the hay?”

“Your wish is my command, fair lady,” he said, sketching a salute in her direction and tossing down the blanket she had used during her nap earlier in the day. He stood watching her, hands on hips, his mouth grim, his eyes searching her as if he sought some form of acquiescence in her stance. She would not give him that for which he seemed to be looking, and she bent to straighten the blanket, then lay in the center of it and pulled both sides over her for warmth.

“You send a very definite message, Isabella,” he said harshly. “I assume I’m not welcome to share your bed.”