Page 27 of Conveniently Wed
How extraordinary.
His tremors began to ease and so did the tension etched in the lines of his face.
She ran her fingers through his long hair. The water from her ministrations had loosened some of the trail dust, and in the dying firelight, the clean locks shone gold.
Her touch seemed to comfort him.
“That’s nice,” he mumbled.
She did it again.
“Do you remember your mama rocking you? When you were little?” His soft question sent her heart up into her throat.
“No,” she whispered, somehow knowing this connection between them was fragile. Not wanting to break it.
Emma had been a baby in most of Fran’s earliest memories, her mother busy tending to chores required to care for an infant.
“I do,” he said. There was a long pause. “This feels like that.”
He drifted off, the final lines above his brow smoothing.
Leaving her with more questions than ever about this enigmatic cowboy.
Edgar woke completely disoriented, with a throbbing pain in his favored hand.
He was outdoors. The sky was dark, but the eastern horizon was turning gray.
It only took a moment for memories to rush in.
The snake.
The bite.
Passing the night with his pretty little wife. The liar.
His head felt stuffed with cotton, pillowed on the same. He was unbearably warm, which was unusual for this time of year when the nights still got cool. Then he realized she was sorta…wrapped around him. His head rested on her folded knees, she was stretched beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.
She’d stayed with him all night?
The warmth that expanded his chest was uncomfortably new. How long had it been since someone had cared for him like that?
Maybe never.
The question was: Why had she done it? Out of some sense of duty since he’d married her?
He couldn’t imagine another reason.
And he didn’t like it anyway.
And then he started to remember her soft questions in the middle of the night. What was she trying to accomplish, pushinghim for information? He didn’t like her questions about his family. Was she trying to find a soft spot? To what purpose?
“Lemme up,” he grumbled, shifting her and jostling her head.
She bolted up, the movement sliding her knees out from beneath his head. Without the support, his head clunked against the ground. He growled.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She knelt at his shoulder and slid those slim cool hands into his hair and around the back of his head. What was her angle?
“Help me get up,” he gruffed. He pushed to his elbow, and his head only spun a little. He took it as a good sign.
