Pistols and Petticoats (A Historical Western Romance Anthology) Page 8

"I won't make sense to you. I don't even make sense to me."

  "Ohhh—" she gasped, arching her back as he slid his hand inside the bodice of her dress and lifted her breast out to kiss and suckle her beaded nipple.

  Her breast was a perfect fit in his hand and he loved the weight of it in his palm.

  A shiver raced through Violet at the blatant hunger of his mouth on her breast, her throat and finally, her mouth. His hand slipped under her skirts and she gasped as it slid upward until he found the string on her knickers. He pulled it free and yanked them down.

  "Say no now, Violet."

  She should stop it. But she wouldn't. Not this time. She needed to know. Everything.

  His palm skimmed up her newly bared thigh and he drew her closer, his hips flexing against hers. He opened his mouth to warn her again and she said, "Stop. Talking."

  He did. Instead, he backed her up against the closed door of the storage closet and pinned her there, lifting her arms above her head with one hand. She tilted her head back and exhaled as his tongue found her earlobe. Then he moved to her breast to suckle her there again, sliding his tongue in a circular path around her nipple, then biting it gently until she wanted to scream. He loosened the hooks and eyes of her bodice and gave her other breast equal measure.

  Tremors ripped through her and her knees went weak, but he held her there, against the door, quaking with the need for more. With his right hand, he lifted her skirt and found her already wet and aching for him. He plundered her there, too, skillful and deft, those fingers of his. Surgeon and lover.

  Violet pressed her head back against the door and squirmed under his touch. One finger, then two, then three. He drove his fingers into her until she thought she might explode. Until she was begging him for mercy.

  "Ethan!" she cried.

  When he didn't give her what she needed, she found his erection and closed her fingers around him, torturing him as he had her. He sucked in a breath and went perfectly still for a few heartbeats before he pushed her hand aside, undid the buttons on his trousers and lifted aside the blue silk of her skirt and petticoats.

  Shock raced through her at her utter wantonness. Never had she done anything so reckless before. She felt him against her, between her legs, the powerful, silken hardness of him. A gasp escaped her when he lifted her in his arms and settled her down on him. She moaned as he filled her, possessed and consumed her.

  He stilled for a moment to give her a chance to adjust to him, then he began to rock his hips into hers. Slow at first, with an exquisite friction that nearly took her over the edge, then called her back.

  "Ethan, oh, God, please, I need—"

  "Wait," he murmured against her ear then traced the outline of her lobe with his tongue.

  She felt herself starting to lose control. Her breathing became ragged as she rode him, her fingers digging into the skin of his back and shoulders.

  And when he couldn't hold back any more, they moved faster, in a primal rhythm that she caught and joined.

  Maybe it was not touching each other for so long. Maybe it was the illicitness of the place or the forbidden pleasure of doing it when they both knew they shouldn't.

  My God, she thought, as he drove fully into her in a rhythm that shattered her and dragged a sound from her that at first she didn't even recognize as her own.

  Who am I?

  And as the world disappeared around them, she curved herself around him, like a puzzle piece that had found its match, and dropped her mouth down on his.

  They forgot themselves. They forgot who they were and who they weren't to each other. Violet cried out when she couldn't hold it in any more and he followed moments later, pouring himself into her. She forgot to be afraid to feel what she felt for him. Because he was holding her like he would never let her go. He was part of her.

  As their breathing slowed and returned to normal, he buried his face in her neck, breathing hard. She did the same, feeling the damp fire of his skin against her cheek. They were both shaking and he pressed her back against the door so they wouldn't fall.

  At last, he lowered her to the floor. They stayed that way for a long minute before either of them could stand without support.

  "Ethan, I—" she started to say, but he stopped her.

  "Don't." He put a finger against her lips. "Shhh." He turned away to button up his trousers. Violet leaned her head back against the door, trying to calm her breathing as she adjusted her skirts.

  Rubbing a palm across his mouth, he asked, "Did I hurt you? Are you all right?"

  She blinked at him, not sure how she was. Finally, she nodded.

  "Good," he said. "Good." He ran a palm down her arm with a squeeze. "Maeve is probably wondering what's become of you by now. You should go get Ella." He turned away.

  But she didn't move. She just stood there, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

  With his back to her, he said, "Thank you, Violet."

  Anything but that.

  Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. "D-Did you just say thank you? As in, 'That was quite nice, Miss. We must do it again sometime?'"

  He turned with a flush and watched her wordlessly through a sweep of dark lashes.

  "Perhaps you should throw down a coin or two. Or three." She bent down to pull on her knickers. "Was I any good?"

  "Violet—"

  "What? What?"

  But Ethan just stood there, saying nothing, the words clogged in his throat.

  "No, no, I understand. You're speechless with gratitude that you didn't actually have to pay one of those girls at Ike's for her favors." She tied the string and pushed down her skirts. "It's my own fault. I could have said no, but I didn't. Do you want to know why?"

  He narrowed a look at her, a pain starting just below his breastbone.

  "Because I had to know," she said. "I had to know if you really meant never. And now I know you did. You meant exactly that."

  "Violet—" he began again.

  "What does that make me, Ethan? Does it have a name?"

  He felt the color drain from his face. "That's not what it is."

  "You can call it whatever you like. But if that... what we just did, changes nothing? Then... then you have my blessing to find it elsewhere. Because your theory about how sex and feelings can be kept separate? It's failed. And I feel... like a fool." She grabbed her shawl and threw it over her shoulders. The door shuddered in its frame as she slammed it behind her.

  Ethan sank down onto the stool near his operating table, his arm shaking again. He crashed his fist down on the table and felt the pain shoot up to his shoulder.

  Hell.

  Why hadn't he opened his mouth? Why couldn't he just tell her? Because he'd been afraid to ruin it. Afraid she'd say it was all a mistake. An clearly, he'd been right.

  Well, he'd done it now.

  Of course he had. And why not? It was inevitable, wasn't it, that she'd find a reason to leave him? And why stop at one, when he'd given her dozens? Because he deserved it.

  And she didn't deserve a bastard like him. He never should have brought her here. And he'd made a terrible mess of things. Now she was going to pack up and go, leaving them behind as she found some new life.

  Leaving him and Ella alone. Again.

  Chapter 9

  Two hours later, Hattie knocked on his office door. When he didn't answer, she let herself in to find him sitting in his desk chair, a bottle of whiskey nearly gone.

  "Ethan," she said gently. "What are you doing?"

  "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm drinking myself into oblivion." He tipped the bottle against his mouth and glugged another gulp. It burned less the more he drank. Now it was merely a pleasant hum that dimmed the sting of memory.

  "You don't drink."

  "I beg to differ." He lifted his bottle as evidence.

  "I've just seen Violet."

  He snorted. "Packing, is she?"

  Hattie walked closer, picking up the papers he'd strewn across the floor as she
went. "She was crying. I took Ella to be with Matthew and the boys."

  "Gracious as ever. And as always, I'm in your debt. Just like when I let you talk me into this whole debacle." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. This is my fault. Mine alone."

  "What did you think would happen, Ethan, when you told her you couldn't love her?"

  "I thought..." He paused, staring at the wall and taking another swig of the amber swill. "Hell. It doesn't matter what I thought."

  "Violet's brother is here."

  This brought his head around. "Her brother?"

  She nodded. "Elliot Bradford. Dr. Bradford."

  Something inside him sank at the news. "To save the day? No doubt she wrote him and begged him to come."

  "I don't know, Ethan. Don't let this happen. You're a good man who's been terribly hurt. But that doesn't mean you can't let yourself be happy."

  "I'm happy," he said, lifting his bottle as proof.

  "If not for you, or for Violet, then for Ella. That beautiful little girl adores you. She deserves a whole family."

  His eyes stung, dammit, and he looked away. He didn't deserve Ella, either. "I only have enough room in my heart for her, it appears."

  Hattie laid his stack of papers on his desk and straightened their corners. "That's a lie. Violet isn't Suzanne. And love isn't subtraction, Ethan. Fear is. Love doesn't steal pieces of you when you let it in. It multiplies. It expands. Go and talk to her."

  Ethan didn't reply and Hattie sighed and turned, slipping out the door without a sound.

  He exhaled slowly. Her brother.

  Well, that was that.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair. What could he say now that would change anything?

  * * *

  "You should've written, El," Violet said, spooning onto a plate the still-warm Apple Brown Betty she'd baked for her brother, trying hard not to cry again. He'd already collided with the worst of her outburst. What a thing, she thought. Coming all the way from Santa Fe to find her weeping like a baby over a sink full of apple peelings.

  "And if I had written, would you have told me what was really going on?" El took the plate and set it down without touching the dessert. "That's why I came in person. And look." He took her hand and squeezed it tight. "You can come and live with us, Vi. With Nora and me. Or Chase and Libby. It's what we wanted, what we all wanted to begin with. You're just too stubborn to—"

  "No, it's not that. You have your lives now. Your new wives, you and Chase. And I'd be... some spinster aunt, always getting in the way or clunking along behind you. But thank you. From the bottom of my heart."

  She hugged him for a long moment and he hugged her back. She needed that.

  Elliot. With his scruffy, dark hair and the content look of a married man that had settled attractively around his eyes and his middle, her brother reminded her of all the things she'd left behind in her life. Baltimore, her history, the comfort of family.

  He had been her best friend, her confidant, growing up. And there would always be an unbreakable bond between them. He knew her better than anyone in the world.

  She'd been so surprised when he'd appeared at her door that she'd burst into an entirely new round of tears. It hadn't taken him long to realize they weren't tears of joy.

  "But, Vi, I come here to find you miserable and crying. Tell me the truth. Do you love him?"

  Violet sat down beside him at the table. "That doesn't matter now."

  "Yes. It does. Do you?" he insisted.

  She swallowed hard. "Yes, but I'll get over it."

  "Get over it?" he said, getting to his feet. "Let me at him. I'll knock his head off for doing this to you."

  He could always make her laugh. "Oh, El. You don't understand—"

  "Hell, no I don't. First, why marry a man who says he'll never love you, and second, what is there to love about a man who marries you and says he'll never love you?"

  So much, she thought, but how could she explain it to him? He knew nothing about Ruari, and it was too late to tell him now.

  "Ethan's... a good man. He adores his daughter. He's raised her all on his own. He's a skilled and caring doctor who spends hours helping people here without much reward. The other day, he bought me a horse, just because I mentioned how I loved riding. And, most importantly, he doesn't hold my cooking against me, even when I burn it to a crisp. He'll just... fix something delicious and feed me."

  And when he kisses me, he breaks my heart.

  "He sounds like a damned saint when you put it that way," Elliot grumbled.

  "Oh, he's not. Not by a long shot. But not everything can fit nicely into a little box. Not everything will work out as we hope."

  "You deserve better, dammit, than half a marriage," Elliot said.

  "Yes, she does," said a voice from the doorway.

  Ethan. How long had he been standing there?

  Violet watched as he moved into the room. He swayed slightly and there was something odd about him...

  Why, he was drunk!

  She'd never even seen him touch whiskey before.

  To Elliot, Ethan touched the brim of his hat on his second try.

  "Ethan? This is my brother, Elliot Bradford. Elliot? My husband."

  Elliot rose, his fists clenched. "I'd say nice to meet you, but it's not."

  "Elliot!" Violet caught his arm as he took a step toward Ethan.

  "Go on. Why don't you explain to me how you lure a woman out here to be your wife, then break her heart?"

  "That what I did, Not-So-Shrinking-Violet?" Ethan asked. "Good to know I still have the knack. Then you'd better go, hadn't you? That is why you came, isn't it?" he asked Elliot. "To rescue her from the big bad wolf?"

  "You're drunk," Violet shot back. "You should stop talking now."

  Elliot did his best impression of a chest-thumping gorilla. "You're damned right I'm taking her—"

  "Elliot! Both of you! Stop talking like I'm not in the room! And I'm not going anywhere."

  Both men did a slow burn in her direction. "What?" they said in unison.

  "You heard me. I'm not leaving Ella. I'm her mother now. She needs me and I've fallen in love with her. That was the agreement, Ethan, wasn't it? Why you brought me here? If you thought you could push me out because you and I—Well, you're wrong."

  Her uneasy gaze went between the two of them and landed on her brother. "Elliot, will you excuse us for a moment?"

  Elliot folded his arms and frowned. "I don't think I should leave you alone."

  "Please. This is between us."

  With a scowl at Ethan, her wonderful, dear brother picked up his hat, settled it reluctantly on his head and stepped out the door.

  She waited, listening until he'd gone down the stairs.

  Turning back to Ethan, she asked, "Would you like some Apple Brown Betty, Ethan? I just made it fresh. Here, take Elliot's. He seems to have lost his appetite."

  He swayed where he was standing, squinting at her as he often did when she simply confounded him. "No," he replied, "though I'm sure it's delicious like all of your Apple Brown Bettys." He sniffed the air. "That's what you've been doing up here? Cooking?"

  "That's what you brought me here for, isn't it? To cook, mother your child, keep your house? Well, I'm getting better at it. Don't you think?"

  A muscle clenched in his jaw in response.

  She turned to clear the table. "What happened before? Between us? I wasn't fair to blame you. It was my fault for thinking I could change the rules, even when you told me there would be no changing them."

  "You should do what your brother wants. You should go with him."

  She kept her back turned to him, but stilled. "You want me to leave?"

  A long pause wedged its way between them. "I want you to be happy."

  "Do you?" she asked, turning back to him. "I think you don't want to feel anything, except maybe sorry for yourself."

  His expression darkened, if that was even
possible. "You don't know what I feel."

  "You're right, Ethan. I don't. You won't let me. But that's all right. Maybe that's the thing you need."

  He took a wavering step toward her. "What I need is..."

  She tilted a patient look at him and folded her arms.

  He advanced another step. "What I need is..." He ground to a halt.

  "Another bottle? Maybe you'll find what you need in there. So, don't let me stop you. Please. Go ahead. Drink yourself silly for all I care. Do whatever you need to do. Stay away 'til all hours. Find a girl at Ike's. You have my blessing. Take your bed back. Don't feel anything. Keep that house up on the hill empty as a monument to your bitterness about what Suzanne did to you. Push me and everyone else away. Wither up if you want and let life slide by you without your noticing, because you're afraid it might just break your heart again.

  "But I"—she pressed a hand against her breast—"I will keep my vow. I will stay. I will risk my heart with Ella. And I will love her. And she will love me, just as she loves you with her whole, tiny, unbroken heart. Because people like Ella and me? We need each other." Her voice broke on those last words and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

  Ethan's hollow eyes glistened and he didn't say a word as he stood there, watching her. For a moment, she thought, hoped, that he would say something, but in the end he simply turned, grabbed the doorjamb and disappeared through it.

  She listened until she couldn't hear him anymore, then turned to swipe the moisture off her cheeks with both hands.

  Damn him!

  She glared at the plate of apple confection as if it held some answer. And when it gave her none, she picked up a fork, scooped an angry bite into her mouth.

  She would make a life for herself here and she would be happy. Her lingering hope that things would be different with him had been her problem, and without that, she could finally be resolved.

  She shoveled in another bite, savoring the sweet comfort.

  Take that, Ethan! Who said she needed his love to make her happy? She could make herself happy. Of course she could. She'd just cook another Apple Brown Betty, she thought with a sniff. She brushed a knuckle beneath her leaky eye.

  Polishing off the rest in two bites, she slammed the fork down and glared at the door he'd left through.