Reclaiming His Wife. Susan Fox P.
we shouldn’t,’ he contradicted her, and as she made to move past him, ‘Leave it,’ he advised with a restraining hand on her arm. ‘They have voice-boxes like radar,’ he assured her. ‘Its mother will find it. Every ewe is instinctively tuned to the call of its young.’
From behind their dark lenses, wounded and sceptical eyes flew accusingly to his.
‘She’ll come back for him,’ he promised.
‘But supposing she doesn’t?’ With all her strength she was pushing him aside, leaving him staggering backwards.
‘Taylor! Taylor, don’t be stupid! For pity’s sake! It’s treacherous down there!’
Drawn by the animal’s cries, she took no heed of Jared’s angry warning, stumbling over steep and slippery ground, her only thought, somehow to help the distressed creature.
Teetering down the bank towards the beck, she managed to stop herself by grasping frantically at the overhanging branch of a tree just before her sliding feet almost plunged her into the water.
‘Heck.’ It was a small gasp of relief at having saved herself from Jared’s scorn rather than an icy soaking. She wasn’t sure which would have stung most, but she could guess.
Taking a dim view of her sudden crashing into its sphere, the lamb, however, had leaped further up the bank, bleating now with fear and indignation.
From a few metres away, it stood shaking on its spindly legs, little face turned towards her, bleating pitifully.
‘Come on. I won’t hurt you.’ Finding a safe footing at last, stooping to make herself appear less threatening, Taylor murmured soft little coaxing phrases above the tumbling of the stream. ‘Come on, little sheep. Don’t be afraid.’
It looked frightened and cold—and was probably very hungry too, she thought, her heart going out to it standing there, lost and defenceless, with its little legs half buried in a drift of snow.
And suddenly she could feel its fear; feel the cold that numbed her own feet and the cruel wind penetrating her bones as though she weren’t protected by her gloves, thick socks and anorak because memory was stripping her of those defences, stripping back the years so that she was five years old again, shivering, vulnerable and afraid.
She didn’t hear Jared shout, catching only the stronger-voiced vibrato of the ewe that was standing, viewing Taylor suspiciously from above the river-bank, bleating her impatience with her errant offspring.
Recognising its mother, the lamb leaped into the air as if on wires, making short work now of the slippery slope. There was a joyous cacophony of bleats before the small hooded face nudged under it mother’s thick coat, tail wagging from the warm comfort of her milk.
In only a few seconds, though, the ewe was pulling away from the small questing mouth, urging her lamb to safety and more familiar ground.
Jared was right, Taylor thought with a cold emotion shuddering through her, staring after the bright disappearing rump of the ewe with her skittish, reunited lamb. Even an animal came back for its young.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing dashing—’ Strong arms were turning her roughly, the deep male voice breaking off as those shaded eyes tugged questioningly over her finely drawn features.
‘What is it?’ he asked urgently. ‘What’s wrong, Taylor?’ He was reaching up to remove her glasses, using his other hand to make her look at him when she tried to turn away. With infinite tenderness his thumb moved across the pale, drawn lines of her face, over the sadness of her downturned mouth. ‘What is it?’ he whispered, concerned.
His touch and the tone of his voice were so gentle and so moving after his anger of a few moments ago that she pressed her eyelids closed against the sensations that were running riot in her, struggling to bring her emotions under control.
‘Just me getting too sentimental over an animal,’ she exhaled heavily, opening her eyes.
Above the dark glasses, she saw the black brows come together, noticed his interest shift to the retreating ewe and her lamb before returning to Taylor again, and now the furrow deepened between his eyes.
‘Tell me,’ he commanded quietly, unconvinced, drawing a soft leather finger down the curve of her cheek.
For a moment, recognising the depth of understanding— of tenderness—in him, she wanted to open up, share her innermost fears, feeling them being drawn from her by those shielded, searching eyes. But instead came the shocking recognition of just how much she still loved him—that she had never stopped loving him! That she could so easily believe him when he said his affair with Alicia was over with, before they were married, because she wanted to— so much! Which would mean, if that were the case, that it had all been her fault that her marriage had failed, wouldn’t it? she thought suddenly, because she hadn’t trusted him enough. Because she couldn’t hold on to anything…
You’ll always run away.
‘Take me home,’ she uttered quickly on a series of violent shivers. ‘For heaven’s sake, let’s go back. I’m freezing.’
They had potatoes on the fire again for lunch with ham and pickles, and a huge helping of fresh fruit to follow.
Now, having fallen asleep on the settee, relaxed by the fire and the unaccustomed amount of exercise she had taken that morning, Taylor woke to the jangle of brass rings and realised that Jared was closing the heavy curtains. On the mantelpiece, she noted, he had already lit the candles. She could smell the wax, and noticed that one was burning rather erratically where there wasn’t much of it left.
‘Awake at last.’ His voice was warm, indulgent.
Taylor sat up, putting her feet on the floor.
‘What time is it?’ she wanted to know, her hand stifling a yawn.
‘What does it matter?’ Jared came around the settee, looking down at her from his advantageous position. ‘We aren’t going anywhere.’
A small thread of excitement needled its way rapidly through her, jabbing alive feelings that were hot and sensual, piercing others with poignant regret.
No, she was snowbound here in a private world with this man who could make her blood sing with the potency of his sexuality; who could make her respond to his will because she was so crazy about him, and who had asked her to give them a chance. But if she did and they started afresh, together, then the pressures would be on her again…
‘I must have fallen asleep,’ she said, stating the obvious.
‘That comes from taking too much exercise you’re not used to. Both this morning—’ He broke off, that sensual compression of his lips finishing the sentence. And last night.
She turned away from those penetrating eyes and was glad when he went over and started stoking up the fire.
Surreptitiously, she watched the play of muscle beneath the thick check shirt he was wearing as he stooped to toss the last of the logs from the wicker basket into the flames. There was a book lying open, face down, on the easy chair opposite her. A book about the English Civil War, she noted, remembering his penchant for English history. So he had been reading while she slept, she realised, the thought of the rather homely scene giving a sudden violent tug on her heartstrings.
‘I wish the power would come back on.’ Distractedly she ran a hand through her dishevelled hair. He had made her run for a large part of the way home, forcing her blood to pump through her after he had seen her shivering down by the beck and now she felt decidedly grubby. ‘I’d give anything for a bath.’ Even if she could have managed to heat sufficient water on the fire to give her a bare amount to bathe in, there was no way, she decided, that she could face the temperature of the cold, unheated bathroom. Not while there were still subzero temperatures outside!
His countenance was grim as he picked up the log basket to refill it and went