Read Online Jillian Hart by Lissa's Cowboy - Free Book Online Page B

in her ears.
    She saw the reflection of the bed in the mirror. The big, four-poster frame dominated the room. Her colorful garden basket quilt seemed to draw attention to the soft expanse of feather ticking and plump pillows.
    "After enduring Doc James's stitches a second time, I could use some sweets." He spoke over the clatter of the flatware and tin dishes.
    "You have a sweet tooth?" she found herself asking just to cover the nerves clenching around her stomach.
    "I must. I'm awful partial to that cake."
    "You didn't mention it in the letters."
    "I guess I didn't mention a lot of things." He nodded toward the window, darkly reflecting the room. "This is really something, this place you have here."
    "I'm glad you think so." She saw the lift of his chin, the gleam of satisfaction in his gaze. "You said you've always wanted a ranch of your own. Are you disappointed?"
    "In this spread?"
    She nodded, nerves clenching more tightly until she couldn't breathe. So much depended on this man—her happiness, her son's, their very future.
    "How could any man want more?" Sincerity rumbled in his voice. "I never imagined a place like this could be mine."
    "You like it, then? The barn's roof needs repairs, and—"
    "I'll fix it." He let the curtain fall.
    "The house is small."
    "I like small." Lamplight shifted across the planes and contours of his face, masculine and striking, and kind as the night was long—so kind. "I'm happy I'm here."
    "So am I." Her heart thudded. Kindness in this man, practically a stranger, came as a surprise. He'd been cool in his letters. Perhaps, she thought now, his emotionless tone in his writing had more to do with his losses and grief.
    "How are you feeling?"
    "You mean the stitches? They're sore, but I'm tough." His arm brushed hers. Awareness skidded across her skin. "Judging by the scars all over me, I'm used to a few scrapes."
    "A few scrapes? You were shot. Twice."
    "I wish I could remember the man who gave me this." He rubbed his forehead. "I'd like to haul him in to the sheriff."
    "No one recognized the man you shot today." She watched him spoon sugar into his tea—such strong hands. "He isn't from around here. At least, not that anyone knows."
    "The rustlers must avoid town. Probably wise." He set down the spoon, leaving the tea swirling in the simple tin cup.
    For the first time, Lissa truly wished she had nice dishes, something fine for this man to drink from. Michael's family came from money, and the scent of fineness clung to John, in the straightness of his posture, in his easy command of those around him.
    She'd come from plain people herself, and later, as an orphan, she'd had even less. Now, she wished she could give her new husband all he deserved. He had risked his life today, when he could barely walk, to protect what was theirs.
    "I suppose a lot of the folks around here knew when I was arriving." He sipped the hot, soothing tea, his gaze watching her over the rim of the cup—intelligent eyes.
    Lissa wondered what he was thinking. "Why, yes. The wedding was planned ahead of time. We agreed."
    He set the cup down. "And by the looks of things, the entire town was invited."
    "Times have been hard around here. With the diphtheria passing through this last winter and the drought before that, people deserved a good party." She avoided the bed and pulled the hardwood rocker out from the corner.
    She thought of offering it to him, but he reached for the plate and fork and turned toward the window. His limp was more pronounced. She remembered the doctor mentioning a cracked ankle.
    She settled her weight in the rocker, and a joint in the wood creaked.
    "Maybe I wasn't robbed," he said, so grim that even the ticking of the clock seemed to still.
    "What do you mean?"
    "I mean, maybe someone was waiting. Maybe someone wanted to kill me. Why else would I have a bullet wound in my forehead? Maybe it wasn't a robbery attempt Maybe those rustlers figured they didn't want a man with a gun running them