Walker's Widow Page 16

  "Don't get me wrong, you're beautiful when you're angry. Your cheeks get all pink and your eyes light up.” His gaze fluttered down. “And you should see the way your breasts bobble when your breathing speeds up."

  Regan inhaled a small gasp of alarm at his audacity and she slapped a hand to her chest like a shield. “You,” she bit out, “are insufferable."

  "And you,” he tapped the tip of her nose with one finger, “are glorious."

  Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, but his comment apparently blew away the better part of her ire.

  Taking advantage of her sudden bout of speech-lessness, he dropped his grip from her elbow and clasped her hand. “Come on, don't stalk off,” he cajoled. “I'm sorry for what happened behind the barn."

  One brow and the corner of his mouth both arched at the same time. “Well, not entirely sorry, but I admit that things got out of hand. It's not that I don't want you.” He ran the back of his free hand over her cheek and threaded his fingers into her hair. “Nowadays it seems like I want you every minute of the day. But you're right that it shouldn't have gone as far as it did, so for that, I apologize."

  He gave her a gentle smile. “Don't let it ruin our outing, though. Let's finish our walk.” Tugging on her hand, he tried to get her to follow him in the direction they'd just come.

  She hated to admit it, but Clay Walker could charm the scales off a rattlesnake. She tried to hang on to her annoyance, but the look in his gray eyes, the pressure of his fingers around hers, and what sounded like a very sincere apology all worked against her.

  So she let him lead her, let him convince her to resume their walk. She only hoped that this time they could both remain upright, all four feet planted firmly on the ground.

  She followed him along the length of the barn, but dug in her heels when he made a move to turn behind the structure. “Wait, wait, wait,” she rushed. “Where are we going?"

  "For a walk. I told you."

  Shaking her head with resolve, she said, “Not that way.” She had visions of him pressing her tight to the barn wall and having his wicked way with her. Again.

  A wolfish glint came into his eyes. “What's the matter, sweetheart? Afraid you won't be able to control yourself once we're out of sight of the house?"

  She snorted. “I'm afraid you won't be able to control yourself. You're an incorrigible brute."

  He had the nerve to grin from ear to ear, and before she knew what he was about, he'd leaned forward to zap a quick, firm kiss to her lips. “I know. That's why you love me.” Then he pulled on her arm and propelled her after him as he moved toward a copse of trees far from the house and barn.

  Oh, glorious day!

  Martha clapped her hands in front of her chest and let out a girlish giggle of excitement. Finally. Finally, finally, finally those two youngsters had gotten their heads on straight and were beginning to court one another. It had sure taken long enough!

  Once the love-struck couple disappeared into the tree line beyond the barn, she let the heavy velvet drapes fall back into place and made her way to the settee to refresh her cup of tea.

  Father Ignacio had gone back to the church a little while ago and the visiting townspeople had followed his lead. They all seemed to understand that the family needed some time on their own.

  She had just gotten Veronica and the children to go upstairs for a much-needed nap when she'd realized Regan and Clayton were nowhere to be found. With the house practically to herself she'd been able to peek out every window on the first floor without the encumbrance of her invalid chair.

  It had taken her a while to catch sight of them, but eventually they'd come around the side of the barn into full view. She had no way of knowing how long they'd been there, of course, or what they'd been doing.

  She certainly had some idea, however. Even from this distance, it didn't escape her notice that Regan's hair was a bit mussed and her skirts had needed a bit of smoothing down. And Clayton ... why, his shirt had been wide open for all the world to see.

  Yes, she had a fairly good idea of what they'd been up to out there behind the barn. It hadn't been that long, after all, since she'd shared the company of a dapper young gentleman, herself. Well, Virgil had been seventy if he'd been a day, but once she'd gotten him out of that tight necktie and made it clear exactly how she intended the two of them to spend the afternoon, he'd been as randy as a twenty-year-old.

  She should probably be upset by her nephew's and daughter-in-law's activities outside the sanctity of marriage, but the truth was, she was simply too giddy about them sparking to care.

  She could already picture the adorable grandbabies—or would they be great-nieces and -nephews?—she would have. Dark-toned boys and freckled little redheaded girls. Or exotic-looking girls and little carrot-topped boys. Now, wouldn't that be darling!

  Hmm. The possibility of grandchildren got her thinking, though. It wouldn't do for Clayton and Regan's children to have a grandmother—or great-aunt, as the case may be—confined to an invalid chair. The blasted thing did have its uses, true, but perhaps it was time to give some thought to getting rid of the great contraption.

  She lifted her legs and turned both puffy, boot-covered ankles in slow circles, testing their strength. Yes, perhaps it was time, indeed.

  "Where are we going, and when will we be there?"

  "Over here, and soon.” Clay's impertinent answer did nothing to soothe her nerves. For the third time in as many minutes, Regan tripped over the root of a tree and Clay paused to see that she didn't fall on her face.

  He probably thought she was the most graceless creature ever put on the earth. At the moment, she certainly felt like it.

  But she didn't think she should be held responsible for her clumsiness at the moment ... she was too distracted by the three simple words he'd uttered before dragging her into the woods.

  I love you.

  He hadn't said them to her, of course. He hadn't declared his undying love and asked for her hand in marriage; he'd said that his beastly, unmanageable behavior was the reason she loved him. Not the same thing at all.

  Except that it had gotten all the cogs and gears in her brain spinning in different directions trying to figure out if he was right.

  Did she love him? It was a daunting prospect.

  When he'd first arrived, she'd been afraid of him. Afraid of his status as a Texas Ranger and his ability to take her to jail. She'd been intimidated by his cocky self-assurance and exceptional good looks.

  Later, she'd found his presence quite beneficial. Although she'd had to go behind his back to accomplish a few minor tasks, he'd been a great help with Mother Doyle and a blessing when it came to covering the hole in the barn roof the night of the storm.

  Remembering that night sent a tell-tale quiver through her body, her pulse rate accelerated and heat flowed to the most intimate parts of her anatomy.

  That, she supposed, was the most telling evidence of all. She'd let him make love to her. Let? she thought with more than a hint of irony. Hardly. She'd gone up to the loft with one thing on her mind, just as willing as he to explore the stirrings of longing that seemed to leap between them whenever they were within spitting distance of each other.

  She'd never been free with her favors before; not before her marriage to James, and not after his death. She'd done her wifely duty. James had never given her anything to complain about in that regard. But she'd never desired another man or an intimate relationship outside of marriage.

  Until Clay.

  Clay rode into town and turned life as she knew it upside-down. He filled her thoughts day and night. She longed to touch him and be touched by him. She wanted to spend every hour—awake and asleep—in his presence. He dared her to expose herself, physically and emotionally, in ways she'd never thought possible.

  She was very much afraid that she did love him. Which would ruin absolutely everything, damn his handsome hide.,

  "Here we are,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

  How he knew where he was when he'd never been to Purgatory before, and certainly not in the Updikes’ backyard, she didn't know. Looking around, she saw nothing but more trees rising far above their heads.

  "Where is here, exactly?"

  "Here,” he said with a boyish grin. And then he crossed his legs at the ankles and dropped to the leaf-covered ground.

  "What are you doing?” Regan exclaimed.

  "Fixing a spot for you to sit without getting your dress all dirty,” he told her. And then he yanked her arm hard enough to send her sprawling—right into his lap.

  At first she struggled, flipping from her stomach to her back and trying to rise. A burst of laughter escaped Clay as he helped her turn over, but held fast to her waist to keep her from getting away.

  "Stop it! Let go!” She slapped at his hands and even elbowed him in the gut, but he only grunted and tightened his grip.

  "Settle down, sweetheart, you're just getting leaves on your pretty skirts."

  When she realized he had no intention of letting her go, she stopped fighting. “My skirts got plenty dirty when you tried to tumble me out back of the barn a few minutes ago, so I'm sure it doesn't matter if they get a little dirtier now. Let me up."

  "True enough,” he acquiesced, ignoring her request to be released. “But you have to admit, I did do my level best to keep you as tidy as possible.” The splay of his fingers widened to encompass as much of her waist as he could reach. “Wasn't I the one flat on my back, letting you keep your dress hiked up above your knees?"

  "Oh!” She gasped at his crude statement and colored all the way to her ears. Pulling back an arm, she rammed her fist into his shoulder with as much force as she could muster.

  He laughed and rolled away from her punch—taking her with him, of course—but she didn't miss the wince of pain that crossed his chiseled features.

  Good. He deserved it for manhandling her and being so vulgar.

  She began to struggle again, but, chuckling, Clay cupped her face and made hushing sounds.

  "Regan,” he said softly, looking directly into her eyes and holding her attention with nothing more than the mesmerizing warmth of his eyes. “Haven't you figured out yet that I'm only quarreling with you to get a rise out of you? And I'm only doing that because you're so goddamn gorgeous when you've got a bee in your bonnet."

  His words stopped her heart faster than a strike of lightning could have. She felt tears prick behind her eyelids and had to blink several times to keep from making a fool of herself by bursting into tears right in front of him.

  "Relax, green eyes,” he murmured quietly. “I'm not going to touch you—any more than I am right now, at any rate. I just want to sit here and talk. And hold you, if you don't mind too much.” He tossed her a lopsided smile.

  Blinking again, she fought to contain the lump swelling up from the region of her heart. She'd been wrong earlier; there was no maybe, might, or possibly about it—she was absolutely, positively, head over heels, over the moon in love with this man.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Clay noticed the shimmer of tears in Regan's eyes and became immediately concerned. “What's wrong, sweetheart?” he asked softly, brushing the edge of his thumb along one highborn cheekbone.

  She swallowed and gave her head a quick shake. Curling her fingers into his shoulders, she said, “You are such an ass, Clay Walker."

  His eyes went wide and he leaned back in surprise. “Pardon?"

  "You heard me,” she retorted, tossing the long strands of her hair over one shoulder. “First you kiss me like there's no tomorrow and get me to nearly copulate with you out back of my neighbor's barn."

  "Copulate?” he repeated, biting back a chuckle.

  She fixed him with an admonishing glare. “You know what I mean. Then you drag me into the woods with you and proceed to both infuriate and insult me."

  "I did not insult you,” he corrected. “I would never insult you."

  "Well, you certainly didn't try to sweet-talk me with that remark about keeping my skirts above my knees."

  His skin grew warm as a flush crawled its way up his neck. “You're right. I apologize."

  "Thank you. I accept,” she said with all the dignity of a crowned princess. “But if you would kindly quit interrupting, I could finish telling you why you're such an ass."

  His jaw clamped shut at the reminder of her lowly opinion of him. “By all means,” he said through clenched teeth.

  "You're an ass,” she began, causing his molars to grind together, “because right after insulting me, you say one of the kindest, gentlest, most charming and romantic things I've ever heard."

  His brows lifted. “And for that, I'm an ass?"

  "A big, stinky jackass,” she clarified. Reaching up, she tugged roughly on a lock of his hair. “Don't you know that a woman likes constancy? You can't act like a—"

  "Big, stinky jackass?” he supplied, crinkling his nose at her unflattering description of his character.

  She nodded. “I've already let you..."

  "Copulate?” he offered, making sport of her earlier choice of words.

  "Stop that,” she warned and gave his shoulder a light swat.

  "Sorry.” He pulled a straight face. “Constancy, right?"

  "Right. Either be crude and manhandle me, or be sweet and flatter me."

  He raised a curious brow. “You're giving me permission to manhandle you?"

  "Of course not.” Her voice held a tinge of exasperation. “You're supposed to pick sweetness and flattery."

  "Ah."

  "As I was saying, we've already—"

  He opened his mouth.

  She held up a cautioning finger. “Don't say it.

  We've already ... been together intimately, so chances are, we'll do so again."

  That proclamation caught him completely off guard. “We will?"

  He saw an inkling of doubt come into her eyes. “Probably. Won't we?"

  "I don't know. Do you want to?” Just the anticipation of her answer had him going hard beneath the snug material of his trousers. He held his breath, waiting for her response.

  Her brows knit and she worried one corner of her bottom lip. “I suppose so,” she said finally. “That's probably terribly wrong and sinful of me, isn't it?"

  "Not in my book,” he answered readily. Far be it for him to try to convince her not to make love with him.

  She cast her gaze downwards, turning shy for a moment, but then she lifted her head and met his eyes directly. “Do you want to?"

  He threw his head back and gave a rusty laugh. “Does Aunt Martha's voice make your ears bleed? Sweetheart, there's nothing I want more. Why do you think I've been sniffing after you these past couple of days?” He shot her a look. “It ain't ‘cause you fry up a mean plate of bacon. The question is: Why haven't you let me make love to you, if that's what you wanted, too?"

  She looked away, but Clay brought her face back to his with the gentle nudge of two fingers against her chin. The tips of her nails danced along his shoulder blades as she considered her reply.

  "At first, I was embarrassed. I've never been with anyone but James,” she admitted. “And it really is improper for us to do ... those things without benefit of marriage."

  His grasp on her waist tightened. “Does that mean you want me to propose?” The words scraped past his throat, but he was only half teasing. Until this moment, the thought of matrimony hadn't crossed his mind. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the idea, but now it was there, taking root.

  She thought about his question for a minute. “I don't want to marry again. Not for anything other than love."

  He frowned. “Didn't you love James?"

  Her eyes softened. “I did. I grew to love him, but not the way I should have. He was my husband, and I cared for him very much. He saved me from an uncertain and most likely dire future, and for that I'll always be grateful. More than you can know."

  The air caught in Clay's lungs and he was almost afraid to hear more. “What do you mean? What situation?” He'd been under the impression that James had taken a young bride because of a love match. But maybe that affection had been one-sided.

  "I was working in a brothel when I met James,” she said simply.

  If his lungs had seized up on him before, they positively petrified at her confession. It was too much to comprehend all at once. Had Regan been a whore? Had she spread her legs for a dozen men a day? But wait, hadn't she just said that, before him, she'd never been with anyone but her husband? How could that be? He opened his mouth and forced the words past suddenly dry lips. “You were a...?"

  "Not yet. But it was only a matter of time. And then one day James Doyle came into Madam Pomfrey's and took a shine to me. I'm not even sure why, exactly, but he said I caught his eye."

  Clay knew why. Because Regan was, quite simply, the loveliest woman ever to grace God's green earth. He'd never been comfortable with the notion of young Regan leg-shackled to a man old enough to be her grandfather, but now he was almost pathetically grateful to his cousin for rescuing her from a life of prostitution.

  "Pretty soon, he was coming in just to see me, not even bothering to visit the other girls. And then he started talking about taking me home with him. That scared me,” she confided, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I was afraid he wanted to take me away only to turn me into his mistress. But the next time he came, he brought a ring. He got down on one knee and asked me to marry him, promised me everything my heart desired.” She made a small sound at the back of her throat. “To this day, I'm not sure why I believed him, but I did. And I said yes."

  "I never knew,” Clay grated.

  "No one did. James didn't tell anyone where we'd really met. I think Mother Doyle might know; whether James told her, or she merely suspects, I can't be sure."

  "You loved him for taking you away from there."

  She nodded. “And for treating me like a queen. He was good to me, Clay. When he died, he left me everything. I don't know why.” Her bright, expressive eyes grew glossy with tears and a single drop of moisture toppled over the edge. “I don't know why he married me. I don't know why he trusted me to care for Mother Doyle. I don't know why he loved me so much."