The Marshal's Wyoming Bride by Tatiana March

Author:Tatiana March
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-09-06T11:49:56+00:00

Chapter Nine

The sound of Rowena’s footsteps across the kitchen floor warned Dale of her approach before he heard her voice and saw her standing in the doorway. “Success,” she told him with a note of triumph. “Towels. Underclothes. A clean gown.” She dumped the stack of items on the single rickety chair in the bathing room. “There are plenty of blankets, too, not too musty, and the sheets look clean. I’ve opened the windows upstairs to air the bedrooms.”

Dale lifted up the empty cauldron. “I’ll leave you to it.”

After Rowena had closed the door behind him, he stood still in the kitchen, listening. The rustle of clothing. The slosh of water. He knew she was naked in the tub, illuminated only by the warm glow of candlelight, droplets glistening on her skin, her unbound hair tumbling down her shoulders.

He could go inside. I’ll help you wash. We’ll share the bathwater while it’s hot. He could think of a dozen excuses, lighthearted phrases. But there was nothing lighthearted about the ache he felt inside, about the way his body trembled and his blood throbbed.

Unable to give in to the need, equally unable to resist it, Dale stormed out of the kitchen and went outside. The stables and the barn on the other side of the courtyard loomed like giant shadows in the falling darkness. He returned to the vestibule where he’d noticed a storm lantern hanging from a hook on the wall and beneath it matches in a leather pouch. He checked the lamp for oil, found the container full. He took out a match, scraped it against the strip of sandpaper attached to the leather pouch for the purpose and held the flame to the wick.

Using the lamp to illuminate his path, Dale went into the stables. The place smelled of fresh hay and horse liniment. He held the lantern high. A row of stalls on the left. Two loose boxes on the right. Behind him came an angry hissing sound. Alert, Dale whirled around on his feet. His right hand settled on the pistol at his hip. In the lantern light, the eyes of a cat glowed at him, like a pair of burning coals. Dale let out a long, slow sigh. His nerves had to be on edge if a barnyard cat had him reaching for his gun.

Feeling his way forward with cautious steps, Dale inspected the horses in the stalls. In the first, a big bay wagon horse greeted him with an eager whinny. By the looks of him, the horse was so old Rowena might be familiar with the creature. Next, two dun geldings, so alike Dale judged them to share a bloodline.

In the first loose box, a big black stallion bared his teeth and neighed in fury. “It’s all right, boy,” Dale told the animal. “I mean you no harm.”

When he eased closer, the horse kicked the stable wall, then craned over and tried to take a bite out of Dale’s shoulder. “Whoa,” Dale said with a leap back.

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