Chapter 8

8

Genevieve didn't want to wake up. She was so comfortable and her sleep so sound that she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so well.

But at the slight brush of fingers against her hair, wakefulness prodded her, and she opened her eyes. The hint of dawn greeted her with enough light to take in her surroundings. Log walls, log beams, a one-room cabin.

Memories of the previous day rushed back to her all at once. She'd arrived on the stagecoach in Frisco, she'd ridden out to the ranch, and she'd gotten married to Ryder Oakley. It had been a very full day, and she must have fallen asleep at some point, because she couldn't remember how she'd ended up in the bed.

But clearly that's where she was.

Where was Ryder? And Boone?

With a strange panic pulsing through her, she started to sit up only to find an arm draped across her. From the muscular size, she knew it could only belong to one person: Ryder. And his arm was bare, which meant he wasn't wearing clothing—or at least, wasn't wearing a shirt.

Heat swept into her face, and she reclined against the mattress, holding herself rigid.

She waited for him to say something or to roll away, but he remained relaxed, as if he were accustomed to lying beside a woman and holding her in bed.

Maybe he was. Obviously he'd done so before. But what about his letter and his sentence: I promise you'll have complete freedom from the usual demands. Had he changed his mind already? Would he expect more from the marriage bed after all? Did he want a real wife and not just a mother to his baby?

As his fingers grazed her ribs, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard against the need to push him away and scramble out of the bed.

What had happened last night? Had she been so tired that she'd fallen into his arms and into his bed? Had they ended up doing something after all? If so, surely she would have remembered it.

She mentally scanned herself. She was still wearing her clothing, even her stockings and shoes. And a blanket was tucked securely around her.

His hand upon her ribs moved again, tugging gently through her hair.

Were his fingers entwined in her hair?

Embarrassment shifted through her again. It was certainly forward of him to be touching her so boldly after only knowing her for such a short time. Should she scoot away from him and remind him of what he'd told her in the letter?

She closed her eyes and tried to think.

This was an awkward situation. Or was it? She was married to him. And this was what married people did. After all, he only had one bed, and it was natural they should share it. What had she expected? That they'd have separate sleeping quarters for the next year?

She certainly hadn't imagined they'd end up beside each other in bed, with him half holding her.

He stretched, his arm tightening over her. In the next second, he jerked back, removing his arm from her and rolling over, putting at least a foot of distance between them.

Did his waking reaction mean he hadn't meant to touch her? That the closeness had been accidental?

She breathed a sigh. At the same time, she heard him expel a tight breath.

"Good morning," she whispered. She may as well let him know she was awake.

He released a frustrated groan. "I'm sorry about that. Was hoping you were still asleep and wouldn't realize I'd accidentally touched you."

Her body relaxed against the mattress even more. He wasn't breaking his word after all. "It's all right. We are in rather close quarters."

As he folded his bare arms behind his head, his bare chest stretched out next to her. Although the room was still dark with the lingering shadows of the night, she could see enough to know that his chest was smooth and solid and hard.

Not that she was giving herself permission to look. But she could admit she was fascinated by him—fascinated that a half-naked man was in the bed beside her, fascinated by the male physique, fascinated by the privilege of marriage that allowed for such intimacy.

As fascinating as everything was, it was also entirely scandalous for a lady like her to be thinking so brazenly about a man. A part of her demanded that she climb out of the bed at once and set a precedent for the days to come, that she wouldn't tolerate such familiarity. But if she'd wanted to avoid scandal, she wouldn't have left home to begin with.

The truth was, she would need to make the best of the situation, and doing so meant she couldn't act like a prude every time he was unclothed or they shared the bed. Because apparently they were going to sleep together while at the same time abstaining from... intimacies.

She could certainly do so. Although she liked Ryder so far, she wasn't interested in him beyond the partnership he'd mentioned. He would allow her to live on his ranch, and she would take care of the home and his son. That was all she needed.

At the same time, she didn't have to jump out of bed and scramble to get away from him. She could make an effort to get to know him better, couldn't she?

"I really like your ranch," she said softly.

"You do?" His response was just as soft and tinged with surprise.

"It's very lovely."

He was silent for several beats. "I'm glad you like it."

Did his voice hold relief? Had he been worried about how she'd like living there? Was it possible his previous wife hadn't been appreciative of the home he'd tried to make for her?

"You picked a wonderful place for the cabin," she added. "The view from the front door is stunning."

"I planned it that way."

"I suspected so." She situated her head on her pillow, starting to feel more comfortable beside him. "Did you always want to be a rancher?"

He shrugged. "After growing up ranching, reckon it's what I know."

"Will you tell me about your family?" she asked tentatively, not wanting to probe. "The livery owner, Virgil, told me some yesterday, but I would like to hear more."

For a short while, they talked about his family's ranch, High Country Ranch five miles to the south. He told her briefly about how he and his brother had been adopted by the Oakleys, who had two sons and twin daughters. His two adoptive brothers had recently gotten married, and one of the twins had also gotten married and moved out of the country to be with her husband. The other twin sister had helped him take care of Boone over the summer, but she had a thriving candy-making business in Breckenridge and was busy with that.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a large family," Genevieve said wistfully, now on her side, facing him.

"You don't have any siblings?" He was on his side too, resting his head on his arm. The light was growing, and the outline of his face was more visible—strong features, an intense gaze, and a serious set to his mouth.

"No, I was an only child. It was just my papa and me."

"Were you close to him?" Ryder's question was hesitant, as though he suspected this was a sensitive topic.

"Very." Her throat closed up with emotion, and she could say no more. Even though she had worked through her grief, talking about her papa still wasn't easy.

Ryder reached out and squeezed her arm as though to reassure her that she didn't need to say any more, that he understood how much she'd loved her papa.

She laid a hand on top of his and squeezed back to thank him for his kind gesture. And for a long moment they lay that way, their hands touching, the grief palpable.

At a gruntlike cry from the cradle at the end of the bed, she shoved herself up and kicked off the blanket that Ryder must have tucked around her. Even as she scrambled toward Boone, Ryder remained where he was, clearly not feeling the same urgency.

She gathered the baby in her arms, expecting him to be startled to see her, to want Ryder instead and perhaps to fuss. But he watched her as he had yesterday, with wide eyes as though he'd hoped to see her again. Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

"He likes you." Ryder had pushed up and was leaning back on his elbows, his legs casually crossed, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

"I hope so." From her position at the end of the bed, and with even more light spilling past the curtains, she had full view of him, unclad except for his underdrawers. His body was more magnificent than she'd imagined, all sinewy muscles and taut flesh and hard planes.

With a flush quickly forming in her cheeks, she buried her face against Boone's downy head. Even though she'd had suitors over the past couple of years, including Prescott, Lenora had regulated every visit. Genevieve had never even held hands with a man, never come close to kissing one, and certainly had never seen a man without his clothing on.

As though realizing her discomfort at his state of undress, Ryder finally sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He swiped up a pair of trousers from the floor and stuffed his legs inside.

When he stood and began to pull them up, she couldn't make herself look away, even though she was being much too brazen in watching a man get attired. As he reached for a dangling suspender, he paused and cast a glance her way.

Rapidly, she spun away from him, tempted to fan her face.

What was wrong with her? Why was she behaving like a loose woman? Was it because she wasn't under anyone's supervision now? Because every action had been regulated for so long she didn't know how to control herself?

Pursing her lips with fresh determination to behave, she crossed to the stove, grabbed a handful of kindling from the wood box, then added it to the low glow of embers. A moment later, flames sprang to life. Just like that.

Was that how it was with lust too? Just a little kindling could fuel a fire?

At the soft sliding of more clothing, she forced herself not to turn and look at Ryder again. As nice as he was and as pleasant as their whispered conversation in bed had been moments ago, she had no interest in anything more developing between them.

Of course, she wanted to have a cordial relationship with him, and she hoped they would work well together. She wouldn't mind getting to know him better and even developing a friendship.

But all other thoughts, including those about his body and him getting dressed, needed to be forever banished and never allowed to roam free.