Ruth Langan - The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree

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 arrangement after all.

He rinsed off the lather and dried his face. When he turned, Izzy was just picking up the last of his clothes. As she carried them to the basin, he noticed her foot.

“You’re limping again. You’ve hurt yourself.”

“No.” Shocked, she stopped and turned to face him.

“You have. Give me those.” He crossed to her and tried to take the soiled clothes from her hands.

She hugged them to her like a shield. “That isn’t necessary.”

“It is. You’ll get blood all over your clean gown.” He yanked them free and dropped them into the basin of water.

When he turned, she was still standing where she’d been, holding her arms across her chest, looking like a bird about to fly.

“What’s wrong, Isabella?”

“Nothing.” She backed away. The movement only served to emphasize her limp.

“You have hurt yourself.” He stared down at her bare toes peeking from beneath the hem of her gown. “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“It’s…nothing. A little pain from the stubbed toe. It comes and goes.” She limped to the door. “I’ll get some lye soap to soak the blood out.”

In quick strides he crossed the room. Reaching over her head, he pressed a hand to the closed door. “Leave it. The clothes will keep until morning.”

She couldn’t bring herself to face him. With her back to him she said, “I could make some coffee.”

“No coffee. It’s too late. Let’s just go to bed.” He dropped a hand to her shoulder and she flinched as though he’d struck her.

She flinched? Sweet heaven, was she afraid of him?

At once he lifted his hand away. But in that one instant he’d determined that she was shivering. Violently.

“I realize I’m not like the men you probably knew in Pennsylvania.” His voice was low, the tone intentionally soothing. “Out here, so far from civilization, we sometimes forget about the things we once took for granted.”

When she didn’t move, he grew bolder and touched a hand to her hair. It was as soft as it looked. Thick and lush and inviting. He leaned close, breathing in the clean woman scent of her as his fingers closed around a silky strand.

Though she was standing very still, she couldn’t hide her reaction. Tremors ripped through her, leaving her quaking.

He withdrew his hand, curling it into a fist at his side. “Get into bed.” His tone was rougher than he’d intended.

“What?” She looked up, confused by his abrupt command.

“I said go to bed. You’re freezing.”

“No, I…”

“Now, Isabella.”

Seeing the look in his eyes, she limped across the room and climbed under the blankets.

He waited until she had carefully tucked the blankets around her, leaving only her face exposed. A face that seemed as pale as the bed linens. And eyes big and round with fear, watching him warily.

What was going on here? She was more than afraid. She was terrified. Of him. Or of…

It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Of course. She was afraid of what they were about to share.

He swallowed back his disappointment. He had been so long without a woman, and he’d thought, hoped, that the drought would end tonight. But he could wait another night.

She was bound to be exhausted from all her travels. And the truth was, he was weary, as well.

He crossed to the dresser and blew out the lantern. In the darkness he made his way to the bed and climbed in beside her.

Izzy lay, stiff and frozen, steeling herself against his touch. He’d seemed so angry. She would probably have to get used to his many moods. When he was angry like this, would he be cruel? After such a long time without a woman, would he use her like a brute?

After long, agonizing minutes, she chanced a glance at the figure next to her. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. His breathing was slow and deep.

As she listened, she realized that he was asleep.

It was her wedding night, and her new husband was asleep beside her.

She nearly wept with relief. She had escaped, at least for one more night, the thing she most feared. And if she had to deal with it tomorrow night, well, that was for tomorrow.

For several minutes she watched the man beside her. Watched his chest rise and fall with each measured breath. Studied the broad shoulders, corded with muscles.

Now that she had a moment to think, she had to admit that his touch had been unexpectedly gentle. She was truly ashamed of her reaction. But she’d been expecting something vastly different. By the time it had registered in her brain, it was too late. The damage had been done. She’d stood there, quaking like a leaf.

Oh, what must he think of her? There was no way she could possibly explain. The thought of speaking about something so intimate was too shocking to imagine.

She studied the dark hair that reached almost to his back. She even lifted a hand to touch it as he had touched hers. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead she lowered her hand and closed her eyes. And, like the man beside her, fell into an exhausted sleep.

“Sweet salvation.”

Izzy awoke with a start. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, then glanced quickly toward the other side of the bed. It was empty. She’d been so sound asleep she hadn’t even heard Matthew moving around the room.

His bloody clothes were still soaking in the basin. But his boots and jacket were missing from the floor.

Without bothering to wash, she pulled on her clothes and shoes and hurried out of the bedroom.

The cabin was empty. There was a fire burning, and dirty dishes littered the table.

She draped a shawl around her shoulders and went in search of the others. The sound of voices led her some distance behind the barn.

The first thing she spotted was Del, staring up a tree. Benjamin, high above her, was inching his way slowly along a branch, holding a smoking torch in his hand. Just above him was a beehive. Swarming around his head were dozens of bees.

“Benjamin.” Izzy’s voice was choked with fear. “Look out. You’re going to get stung.”

“I guess he’s been stung a hundred times or more.” Del’s voice rang with pride. “But it’s the only way he knows to get their honey.”

As Izzy watched in amazement, the boy held the torch near the hive. After a few minutes the activity around it seemed to slow down, as the bees were overcome by the smoke. In one quick motion Benjamin reached into the hive. When he withdrew his arm, it was black with bees. He merely brushed them off as he shinnied down the tree. Once on the ground he held out his prize, which he broke into pieces to share with the others.