The Accidental Bride (21 page)

Hot air stuffed his lungs. He ran toward her, but the aisle had become a treadmill. Running, running, running.
Please! I'm sorry!
Soundless pleas swelled inside him until he thought he'd burst with the pressure.

And then the man kissed her. The wedding was over. She turned around then and he saw something in her arms. A bundle. A baby. She looked directly at him, and that's when he knew—he'd lost her forever.

Something woke Shay. She became aware without opening her eyes. She turned and pulled the quilt up. Even through the closed door she often heard Travis snoring. He liked to play hymns on his guitar before bed, and those sounds also leaked through the door. Instead of annoying her, however, the melodic strumming had become a comforting lullaby, reminding her of God's presence.

Had to go back to sleep. Morning couldn't be far away. She wouldn't open her eyes and check. She nestled into the mattress, turning onto her stomach. In the five weeks since she'd gotten her splint off, she'd relished her old sleeping position. Just as she'd relished hearing the creak of saddle leather, seeing the calves grow before her eyes, smelling the sweet alfalfa and sagebrush on the open range.

Ranching with Travis was different from working with Manny. Way different. Travis was confident, didn't need to be told what to do, not even close. A few times she'd even asked his opinion. She knew her cattle, but he had an affinity with them that belied the time he'd been here. He knew their markings and which calf belonged to which mother.

They'd fallen into a rhythm, working side by side. No need for words.

It was different than it had been with Garrett too. Her ex-husband had a mind of his own and liked to tell her what to do even though she was as competent as he. It used to annoy the dickens out of her. Wasn't it her ranch, passed down from her parents? Hadn't she worked it since she was knee high? But it didn't matter. Garrett wanted her to know he was in charge. She'd argued at first, but as Olivia grew older, Shay had gone along with the program to keep peace. Anything she had to do to hold their marriage together.

So much for that. He'd left anyway, and she'd lost a little of herself in the process.

Another sound came from beyond her door. More like a mumble than a snore. She perked her ears, lifted her head from the pillow. There was nothing but the distant hum of her old refrigerator. The clock read 3:46. She was about to lie back down when she heard it again.

A word, Travis's voice. Who was he talking to? Surely he wasn't on the phone at this hour. She thought of the woman who'd called a couple months before. He hadn't mentioned her, and as far as she knew, he hadn't been calling her.

Unless he was calling in the middle of the night. Sneaking around, pretending to be the loyal husband, all the while carrying on a long-distance relationship, keeping this Ella woman on the sidelines just in case the marriage didn't work out. Or simply biding his time until their arrangement was over.

The thought opened a void in her belly, wide, dark, and aching. She told herself it was nothing, this hollow feeling. It was the thought of betrayal that troubled her, not any feelings she might still have.

Who are you kidding, Shay? The feelings are still there. You can
bury them, you can stuff them, but you can't make them disappear
.

She'd let her guard down. It was impossible to keep it up 24-7—the man lived with her, for pity's sake. He was doing his laundry in her machine and washing his hair under her spigot.

They'd already been in love once. Plainly they had the chemistry or pheromones or whatever it was that drew two people together. He was always giving her that lopsided smile, throwing her a wink here and there that she'd find herself thinking about when her head hit the pillow.

It was natural those old feelings would creep up. She was only human, after all. It wasn't going to hurt anything—as long as she didn't act on them.

Another sound from the living room. She turned her ear toward the door. It had been just a word or two. If this was a phone conversation, it was pretty one-sided.

She pushed back the covers and slid her feet to the floor. Moonlight washed through the sheer curtains, casting a white glow over the door. She crept toward it, the wooden planks cool against the balls of her feet.

She pressed her ear to the crack between the jamb and the door and waited.

“No.”

The word was clear, but it didn't sound right, not like Travis. She pulled open the door, wincing when it creaked. He was a dark lump on the sofa. He moved. His breathing was harsh and shallow.

He was having a nightmare. Not a phone call. Should she wake him or go back to bed?

“Sorry . . .”

At least, that's what she thought he said. He moaned quietly.

Whatever the dream, it wasn't good. She shouldn't let it continue. Besides, she didn't want him waking Olivia.

She crept toward the sofa. The drapes were drawn on the picture window, and only the dim glow of the clock lit her way. As she approached, her feet tangled with the balled-up quilt he must've kicked off at some point. He lay on his side, his legs bent to fit on the sofa.

She touched him on the shoulder, shaking gently. His breaths continued, erratic and shallow. He jerked in his sleep.

“Travis,” she whispered.

He released another low moan. His foot jerked.

She squatted down, shook his shoulder. “Travis.”

He sucked in a deep breath, like he was draining the room of oxygen. Then he sprang upright on the sofa, nearly tipping her backward.

She grabbed for the sofa's edge to steady herself, but his knees were there instead—solid and warm through the thin cloth of his pajamas.

“Shay.” Her name was a sigh of relief. He cupped her cheek with his palm. “You're here.”

Her breath caught and hung in her lungs. His palm was warm and rough against her face. She resisted the urge to lean into it.

“ 'Course I am,” she croaked.

His lifted his other hand, touched her hair as if making sure. The touch awakened a shiver that traveled from her scalp to her spine.

He wasn't awake yet, not quite.

What was her excuse? And did she really want one?

His hand fell from her cheek, leaving a spot that grew cold and lonely for his touch.

“Dreaming, I guess.” His voice was low and sleepy.

Her hands were still braced on his knees. She pulled them away, clasped them against her stomach. “Guess so.”

She should go. He was awake now. Nightmare over. Mission accomplished.

He grasped her shoulders as if sensing her departure. His hands were warm through her filmy shirt, his hold firm.

“It was awful . . . lost you all over again.”

That was what he'd dreamed? What he'd moaned over? Something pleasant and gratifying claimed the hollow spot inside her. Her heart lodged somewhere between her chest and throat.

“Shay . . .” He cupped her face in his palms, his thumbs grazing the tops of her cheeks.

She couldn't read his face in the dimness, but she could read his voice, his touch. And they were saying things she'd longed to hear for so long. Her breaths came in shallow puffs. Feelings she hadn't felt in years filled her to overflowing.

He pushed her hair off her face, his touch as light as a whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

His words were water for a thirsty soul. He leaned close, and when she felt his breath on her lips, she closed the distance between them.

His kiss was tentative, restrained. Like she was an iridescent bubble he might burst. His touch was heaven. She could never get enough.

He pulled her closer. Her hands came around his torso, finding the warmth of his bare back. Her touch seemed to unleash something inside him.

He deepened the kiss, his restraint gone, taking hers with it. She'd forgotten how he could make her burn. How quickly she ignited under his touch. But she remembered now. Remembered all too well this feeling he aroused. She was fully awake—more awake than she'd been in years.

Not even Garrett had reached so deeply inside her—no one, ever. There'd never been anyone but Travis. Never been anyone who loved her like he did, who made her feel the way he did.

With that thought, fear wormed into her heart. Loving him would only lead to pain . . .

Travis's lips left hers, and despite the direction of her thoughts, she bit back a protest. But he didn't go far. His lips brushed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, loving every inch of her face. When they returned to her lips, she didn't protest.

How could she when she wanted it with every cell of her body? When she ached for more, and more was never enough? Not with Travis. It hadn't been enough fourteen years ago, and it wasn't enough now. She pressed into him, closer still, but not close enough.

He left the couch, easing her back onto the carpet. It was what she wanted so badly. Despite her overwhelming desire—maybe because of it—panic shot through her veins like acid.

This couldn't happen. What was she doing?

She pushed on his chest and turned her face, feeling his hot breath on her cheek. “Stop.” The rug felt rough against her cheek after his tender ministrations.

He straightened his arms, bracing his weight. His breaths were ragged.

Or were those hers? She could feel her heart beating against the floor beneath her. She couldn't make out his features, was almost glad of it. Maybe he couldn't see hers either. Couldn't see the flush of desire on her cheeks or the torment of denied longing that was surely scrawled across her face.

“What's wrong?”

She closed her eyes as if she could erase the sound of his anguish. “I can't.”

He was suspended above her for the space of a dozen heartbeats, then he eased his hips down beside her, his weight braced on the arm that spanned her torso.

In the quiet moment they caught their breath. Unspent desire coursed through her veins, making her want to whimper.

“Talk to me,” he said.

She couldn't find the words. They were there, in her mind, but they danced just out of reach.

“What's going on in that head of yours?”

“I—I don't want this.”

“You did a minute ago.” His gentle tone made the truth go down a little easier.

“Come on, Travis. We're both grown-ups. What you want and what's good for you are two different things.”

He turned her face toward him, and she opened her eyes. “Give me another chance. I know I don't deserve it, but . . .”

There was more he wanted to say. She watched him struggle, wished the shadows would part and reveal his thoughts. But he didn't finish his sentence.

“Nothing's changed.” She wouldn't trust her heart to him again. Not after last time. Not after Garrett. She was done trusting her heart to men. It hurt too much when they left, wasn't worth the risk.

“
I've
changed.”

She didn't like looking up at him, didn't like being trapped by his arm. She scooted backward, came to a sitting position a safe distance away—if there was such a thing.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said.

But he would. In three months or three years. He'd leave her, and she'd hate herself for trusting him again, for giving herself fully only to be hurt. One time you could excuse. Twice just made you stupid.

“It's late.” She stood, tugged her nightshirt into place. “Get some sleep.” She turned toward her room. Her body felt heavy, her legs trembling with each step.

“It won't go away, you know.”

His words barely reached her, and when they did, she wished they hadn't. Did he speak of the ache that had settled beneath her breastbone? The desire that still coursed through her limbs? Or the flame of love that—she was beginning to realize—had never been fully extinguished?

She entered her room and pushed the door until it clicked, as if she could close the door on her feelings, as if she could shut out the words he'd just spoken. But the door was just a two-inch slab of wood, a useless barrier, and all of it stayed with her until the alarm blared bright and early.