The Cowboy and His Wayward Bride. Sherryl Woods
stared at the white envelope he held in blank confusion, then stared back at him, at his naked chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and could think of nothing else. Want nothing else. Ignoring the letter, she touched her mouth to his collar-bone, the base of his throat, and the breath he took was deep, ragged. Her damp breasts were against his flesh, her bare thighs against the edge of his shorts, and she wanted him naked, as she was.
‘No,’ he said softly as he put her away. Pressing the letter into her hands, he turned, opened the door, and walked out.
Shaking, she stared at the closed door. She’d just propositioned him, hadn’t she? And been turned down. Embarrassed, mortified, she slumped down on the side of the bed. But he’d kissed her first, hadn’t he? Why? Because she was there? Naked? Available? She’d never thrown herself at a man in her life. Staring down at the letter she held in her hands, she shuddered.
He hadn’t looked at her body, that was something. He’d kept his eyes on her face. Did that make it better? She had no idea. His wry smile had been a bit shaken, his muscles tense. But not as tense as hers. His girlfriends were probably sophisticated, elegant—experienced. They would have laughed at his kiss, said something witty. And what had she done? Nothing. And now he’d gone.
How would she face him next time they met? Bravely? As though nothing had happened? Avoid him? Yes, that would be best. Except she didn’t need to. Over the next two days he was never anywhere in sight. His door remained closed, his table outside, empty. Perhaps he was avoiding her. And she couldn’t stop thinking about him, looking for him, going over and over in her mind the way he had kissed her. She could still feel it. Taste it. She’d been kissed a great many times in her life, but no one had ever made her feel like that. So special. So abandoned when he’d left.
And then, on the third day, she saw that his door was open. With no real knowledge of what she was going to do, say, she walked slowly along the landing towards it. She stood outside it for ages, just waiting, breathing slowly, and then she tapped softly. No answer. Pushing the door gently wider, she peeked inside. His room was slightly larger than her own, his bed wider, and there was room for a small table beneath the window. There was a computer, a stack of papers, and, hesitating only momentarily, she walked quietly inside.
‘Jed?’ she called softly.
Nothing.
There were no sounds from the bathroom, just noises from outside filtering up through the open window. She didn’t really remember walking to the desk, or even picking up the top sheet from the stack of papers. She really didn’t think she had been going to read it; it was just that the words seemed to leap out at her.
There has been talk of a bridge, but in this summer of 1827, if one wants to cross the river to Oberammergau, then one must brave the 250-foot gorge on a raft pulled by oxen. Courage, after all, I tell myself, is only the fear of looking foolish.
‘You wanted something?’ Jed asked quietly from behind her.
With a little cry of alarm, she dropped the paper as though it were hot, and then bent to quickly retrieve it and put it back on the desk. Warily turning to face him, she began inarticulately, ‘I…You weren’t here…’
‘No,’ he agreed unhelpfully as he stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee in one hand.
‘Your door was open…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I’d better go.’
He stepped to one side and she began edging towards the door. Halting on the threshold, her back to him, she blurted, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’ When he didn’t answer, she turned slowly to face him. ‘I keep thinking that maybe the kiss wasn’t so special, maybe it was just my imagination, maybe it didn’t make me feel as I thought I felt…Sorry,’ she apologised with a shaky smile. ‘I must sound like a teenager. I’m not usually so…I mean, I don’t…’
‘Don’t you?’ he asked softly.
‘No. Why did you kiss me, Jed?’
‘Because I couldn’t help myself?’
Eyes wide, she just stared at him.
‘You’re a very attractive young woman.’
‘Am I?’ she asked stupidly.
His mouth quirked. ‘Yes. Go away, Sarah, I’m too old for you.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. I sometimes think I was born old. I’m too cynical, too selfish and I’ll probably end up hurting you.’
‘You don’t know that…’
‘Yes, I do.’
Still staring at him, wanting him, wishing she had more experience in these matters, she murmured, ‘You didn’t like me when we first met, did you? Your immediate reaction was…’
‘Worry,’ he said with soft amusement.
‘Worry?’
‘Mmm. You stared at me with those big brown eyes, and I knew you were going to be trouble.’
‘You were attracted?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then…’
‘No.’
‘Then you obviously don’t feel as I feel,’ she said almost crossly.
He smiled. ‘Oh, I expect I do.’
‘But you’re very strong-willed?’ she asked waspishly.
‘Very.’
‘I’m not asking you to marry me!’
‘What are you asking?’
Hesitating only momentarily, she murmured, ‘To get to know you better.’
Placing his by now probably cold cup of coffee on the desk, he asked quietly, ‘How old are you, Sarah?’
‘Twenty-four, nearly twenty-five.’
‘You look younger.’
‘Well, I’m not! And if you’re attracted to someone, well, I mean, it’s a natural progression to…’
‘Kiss?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know what will happen if we do?’
‘I hope so,’ she admitted barely audibly. ‘Please?’
‘You’d better close the door,’ he instructed softly.
Breath hitching in her throat, her eyes held by his, she reached shakily out and closed it. ‘Now what?’
‘Now you come here.’
Staring at him, clear distress in her eyes, she managed, ‘To make me feel cheap?’
‘No,’ he denied gently. ‘To try and make you realise what a fool you’re being.’
Staring down at her linked hands, she whispered, ‘You don’t really want me, do you? I’d better go.’ Turning, she grasped the door handle, and then hesitated. ‘I think I came to tell you I was leaving,’ she mumbled. ‘There’s a bus on Saturday.’ Opening the door, she halted again and turned to give him a rather shaky smile. ‘It is allowed to make a fool of yourself once in a while, isn’t it? It’s part of growing up. Goodbye, Jed.’
Hurrying out, she ran along to her own room and closed the door. Heart beating overfast, feeling stupid and young, she collapsed onto the side of the bed, and then stiffened and looked warily up as the door opened and Jed walked in.
‘I shall probably regret this,’ he said softly. ‘I just pray that you don’t.’ Closing the door, he walked across to her, sat beside her, tilted her chin up with one finger, and kissed her. A soft, gentle, mesmerising kiss. A kiss she was entirely incapable of resisting.
When he