Chapter 7

7

Ryder paused outside the cabin door and listened. The trill of katydids echoed in the darkness of the summer night, but the inside of the cabin was quiet. Too quiet.

His pulse picked up pace as it had when he'd been riding home from Breckenridge, his mind unable to stop replaying the day Sadie had left him. He'd come home from a rough day with his cattle after having to put down one of the heifers that had been attacked by a wolf and mangled too badly to survive. When he'd walked into his new home that wintery February day, he'd shaken the snow from his coat and unwound the scarf covering his face and head, ready to tell Sadie all about the tragic tale—one full of adventure and danger, just the way she liked.

But she hadn't been inside the cabin. She hadn't been in the privy or the smokehouse or the barn. He'd searched and called out for her until he'd been almost frantic, half believing the horse thieves who'd had a role in killing Pa Oakley were back in the area and had kidnapped her.

He'd finally gone back into the cabin intending to don his warmest clothing and ride down to High C Ranch and ask his brother to form a search party for Sadie. He'd been gathering more ammunition for his revolver when he'd realized her bag was gone.

He hadn't needed to look around much longer to discover that not only was her bag gone but also every single thing she'd owned or brought to the cabin—which hadn't been much. In that moment, his gut had twisted with the truth.

She hadn't been taken. She'd left him.

He'd ridden straightaway to her family home, a ramshackle place on the southern edge of Breckenridge. Captain Moore, her father, had answered Ryder's banging with shouts and curses, as drunk as always.

Once a renowned captain in the War of the Rebellion, Sadie's father coped with the tragedies that haunted him the only way he knew: by drinking himself into oblivion every day. That meant his wife and three daughters, including Sadie, were largely unsupervised and did whatever they pleased most of the time.

The captain hadn't known where Sadie was. After Ryder's shouting and threats, one of Sadie's sisters had finally come to the door and admitted that Sadie had gone straight to Axe Lyman. Apparently, she'd started seeing Axe after Ryder had stopped coming around, even once she'd learned she was carrying Ryder's baby. And apparently the only reason she'd agreed to get married was because Ryder had convinced her that he'd provide a good life.

But the life he'd given her that first week of marriage had been anything but good. It had been lonely and isolated and barren. She'd learned Ryder didn't have any wealth and wouldn't be able to buy her all the things she'd hoped he would. She'd learned he was boring and simple. She'd learned her future would be dull and filled with the work of growing a ranch and taking care of a baby.

And so she'd gone back to Axe.

Ryder gripped the door handle. What if the same thing happened with Genevieve? She'd learn soon enough, as Sadie had, that he was poor and boring and simple, that her future would be dull and filled with work and caring for a baby. What if, after a week or a month or even a year, she gave up and decided to leave him?

He knew he couldn't compare the two women. It wasn't fair to Genevieve when she'd been nothing but honest and kind from the moment she'd first sent him a letter. Yes, she'd described her eye color differently in her letter. On his way to get the reverend, he'd re-read the letter that he kept in his coat pocket. He'd wanted to be sure he hadn't imagined that she'd claimed to have brown eyes. He wasn't sure why she'd said so when her eyes were a pale blue. Maybe she was embarrassed to have such a unique eye color. Maybe she hadn't been sure how to describe the color to him. Maybe she'd assumed he wouldn't like her if she mentioned the blue-gray color.

Whatever the case, it was a tiny thing. Probably not even worth bringing up. Especially since he'd sensed a sweetness and kindness in her since the moment she'd first dismounted from her horse.

And seeing her dancing with Boone when he'd returned from fetching the reverend? He'd never witnessed anything more beautiful. Her long dark hair had been unbound and swirling around her, practically begging him to touch the strands and test for himself whether they were as thick and silky as they looked.

He imagined she resembled one of the Greek goddesses he'd read about in the ancient myths—confident, strong, and too beautiful for this world. He pictured her in a flowing white gown, with layers of material floating around her, complementing her pale skin and making her dark hair all the more startling and her lips all the redder.

"Come on," he whispered to himself with a sharp mental shake. This was exactly the sort of fantasizing he couldn't allow himself. After the mistakes he'd made with other women, including Sadie, he didn't want to allow his manly urges to dictate his life again. He needed to remain in control and have better self-discipline.

Besides, after the pain he'd experienced from his failed marriage, he didn't want to jump into another relationship so soon. He'd made that clear enough in the letter he'd written to Constance—to Genevieve—the one she carried with her the same way he carried hers. He'd told her he wouldn't place the usual wifely expectations and demands upon her, that he just wanted her to be a mother to Boone.

And that was still true. He didn't want to get involved physically with another woman, especially not a woman he didn't know and love. He'd had enough casual affairs in his life already. And the next time he had relations with a woman, he wanted to do it right, out of love and not selfish need.

Maybe someday he'd develop love for Genevieve. And maybe she would for him too. If that happened and they wanted to have more, they could decide on that together. But until then, he had to learn to be satisfied with a marriage of convenience... in spite of how attractive his new wife was.

He opened the door a crack and listened again. It was still too quiet.

He didn't want to assume the worst had happened, but as he swung the door wider, his gaze anxiously shot around the room until he caught sight of her in the rocker beside the stove, asleep with Boone in her arms.

The rapid beat of his heart slowed. She was still here, and he'd worried for nothing.

After barring the door as quietly as possible, he crossed to the rocker and stood in front of her, unsure what to do. As if sensing his presence, Boone opened his eyes and peered up at him. He was tucked securely into Genevieve's arms, and there was no chance of him slipping out.

Even so, Ryder gently lifted the child away from her. As he did so, she stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled sleepily up at him. "Thank you. I certainly am more tired than I realized."

"It's all right." He gathered Boone close. "I'll get Boone ready for bed since you had a long day."

Her dark lashes had already fallen, fanning out over her pale skin. When she didn't respond or move except for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, he guessed she'd fallen back asleep.

He changed Boone's diaper, placed him in his nightclothes, and wrapped him up tightly in one of his blankets. Within no time, the baby fell back asleep too.

After settling him in his cradle, Ryder straightened and took in Genevieve, still resting in the rocker.

What exactly would he do for the sleeping arrangements for the night? Since he'd already told her they wouldn't consummate their marriage, they couldn't use the same bed, could they?

But what other choice did they have?

He glanced around the cabin again, then jammed his fingers into his hair as if that could somehow keep him from worrying. It never did.

There had never been any talk about abstaining between him and Sadie. He'd never once considered it, and neither had she, and they'd shared the bed the way any married couple would.

But this time, things were different.

He took in the space available in the rest of the cabin. There wasn't much room. But if he pushed the table and chairs aside, he could make a spot big enough for a bedroll on the floor.

He dug his fingers deeper into his hair. He didn't want to go to all that trouble every night. Besides, how long would such a sleeping arrangement last? He could do it for a short while. But what if it turned into endless weeks? It would get awfully cold once the night temperatures started dropping in a month or so with the coming of autumn.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, he turned his attention to the bed. It was big enough to sleep two people. They could each have their sides and wouldn't have to touch. After all, they were legally married, and there was nothing sinful about lying next to his wife in bed.

Yes, that's what they'd do. They'd share the bed right from the start. Wasn't any reason why they shouldn't... except maybe a little awkwardness, since they didn't know each other yet. But they'd eventually grow more comfortable, and it wouldn't seem so strange. Might as well not put off the inevitable.

His gaze bounced back to her in the rocker. She was still sleeping, her head tilted, her face peaceful.

Even if she looked peaceful enough, he needed to wake her up so that she could get into bed.

He crossed to her again and stood over her, giving himself permission to stare at her since she was asleep and wouldn't have to know how smitten he was with her—her elegant features, the pretty set of her mouth, her perfectly rounded chin, and her graceful neck. Her dark hair was still unbound and framed her face, falling in gentle waves all around her.

Why was she here with him when she could have any man she wanted? The question echoed through him, this time louder than earlier.

As she sighed a tired breath and shifted as though to get more comfortable, his chest swelled with an unexplainable emotion. Was it compassion for her? She was obviously exhausted from her journey.

Maybe he shouldn't wake her and should instead just place her in bed. Without giving himself the chance to overthink the situation any longer, he bent and slipped his arms under her. After years of working the land and taking care of horses and cattle, he had no trouble lifting her.

As he situated her against his chest, her lashes rose again, and her blue-gray eyes met his and filled with confusion.

"You fell asleep in the chair," he whispered as he started across the room. "So I'm putting you in bed. That's all."

"Oh dear." Her tone held chagrin. "I apologize for the trouble."

"No trouble."

"You may put me down, and I'll manage."

"You're fine." He reached the edge of the bed and lowered her carefully. "Go on back to sleep."

"I cannot..." Her eyelids closed, and her voice trailed off. She didn't move, didn't protest. She'd fallen asleep again.

He scanned the length of her. Her skirt and bodice were slightly too big for her. Even though they were dusty from the traveling, the material was crisp and unstained, as if it were new. Her leather boots were of excellent quality, well-polished and sturdy—not at all what he would have expected of a poor orphanage worker.

Should he take off her shoes for the night?

He bent and touched one of the laces, the hem of her skirt falling high enough that he could also see one of her stockings, which was made of fine knit silk, a quality he'd never seen before.

She had slender legs, and the stockings rose high above her calf, likely to her knees. He had the urge to run his finger along the soft material—only to feel it, not her. But he pulled his hand away and straightened.

No, he'd maintain better self-control if he didn't think about undressing her in any way—not even to take off her shoes and stockings. In fact, it would be for the best to keep his hands off her at all times.

He retrieved an extra blanket from under the bed and draped it over her. He tidied up the house, banked the embers in the stove, checked on Boone one last time, then snuffed the lantern before shedding his clothing down to his underdrawers.

As he stepped up to the bed on the opposite side of Genevieve, he hesitated. Even though he always slept in his underdrawers and nothing else, maybe he needed to at least keep on a shirt. He bent, picked up his undershirt, and began to tug it back over his head. But at the waft of perspiration lingering in the material from the heat of the summer day, he tossed the item back to the ground.

Whether or not he was decent, he was going shirtless. That's all there was to it.

He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He held himself stiffly, waiting for her to awaken and protest his presence. But only stillness and silence came from her side of the bed.

Carefully, he spread out on top, not wanting to make too much commotion by trying to pull the covers down. Thankfully, the night was still warm and balmy, and he had no need for a blanket at the moment. If he got cold during the night, he'd cover up then.

As he lay straight as a poker stick and stared up at the dark log ceiling beams, the only thought in his mind was that there was a beautiful woman in bed beside him—a beautiful woman who also happened to be his wife. What was he doing lying there? He was only asking for trouble. Obviously not tonight or anytime real soon. He wasn't a brute who would ever force himself on any woman.

But he also wasn't a saint. His son was proof of that. If at some point in the future he reached for her and she didn't resist his overtures, there was no telling what could happen.

That meant he couldn't ever reach for her in bed—especially while they were in bed.

With a soft growl of frustration at himself for his weakness, he rolled so that he was facing away from her. He had to pretend she wasn't there. And even though pretending he was alone wouldn't solve all his problems, hopefully he'd be able to prove to himself and to her that he was a man of honor.