River's Edge (Unlikely Gentlemen, Book 1) (12 page)

Edge shook Murdock’s hand and listened to the old gentleman tell a few stories about Arthur Grayson. It cost him nothing to let the prosecutor meander along about things long past. As a matter of fact, it made Edge feel proud to be related to his grandsire who’d grudgingly given him a better life.

“You gonna stand here and jaw all day or come home?” Amos interrupted one of Murdoch’s stories and rescued Edge from the conversation.

Home
. The very word filled him with satisfaction. River had rescued him, claimed him and married him. He had to fight back the grin.

“Where’d you get the ring?” Amos asked as he urged Edge toward the court room door.

“Paris. I conducted my other business, went ring shopping, found the one I gave River, and traded my handguns for it.” He eyed Amos and growled, “Might be better to be vague about the when, since that was the day
after
I supposedly spent the night in River’s bed.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Excuse me, I love you…

Edge accompanied Amos from the courtroom and approached the wagon where the three women stood waiting.

“We all came together,” the old foreman explained.

Introductions were made, and, after Talia and Beth tendered their congratulations to him for marrying their friend, it was time to load up and be on the way. After an awkward moment when everyone tried to decide who would ride where, Edge took charge.

“Amos, if you don’t mind, you and the ladies sit up front on the ride home. I’d like to take the backseat with my bride.”

“Don’t get in yet,” he told River. He borrowed a double hitch from the livery and hooked Sandy in front with the other horse. Then, with her consent, he lifted River, cradling her in his arms and seating them back to bench, as they left Annon and headed home. She didn’t start to shake until they were out of town.

“Cold?” he asked. He pulled the blanket from under them and wrapped it around them instead. Since the sun was still up and the day had been a scorcher, it seemed unlikely.

She said nothing but squirmed closer and pulled the blanket tighter around them. Her hand was icy cold when she slid it inside his shirt, before resting her head on his chest. She remained silent during the trip and had fallen asleep by the time they reached Isaca to drop off her friends.

She woke long enough to raise her head and say her goodbyes before she curled back into a deep sleep for the rest of the ride to the Prescott Ranch.

Edge didn’t know what was ahead for them, but staring out the back of the wagon, he figured it would be better than the dust of the past. Once they reached the ranch, River stayed asleep.

“Is this normal?” he asked Amos, beginning to get more than a little concerned.

Amos shrugged. “Not normal for most, but I’ve seen her do it before. She slept for three days after the time Emmett tied her to her horse. When her mama died, God rest her soul, River went to the funeral then came home and took care of her daddy. When her daddy died, she slept for a week and missed the funeral.

“Well, okay.” Edge carried her inside and followed the older man upstairs to her room.

After he’d tucked her in and Amos had left, Edge sat down on the chair next to the bed to watch her sleep. He dozed there until the next morning and woke, stiff, and unsure about what to do next. River wasn’t in the bed, and a blanket had been thrown over him as he slept.

His saddlebags had been unpacked, and his spare clothes were stacked on the chest of drawers. He’d never been so aware of the paucity of his possessions. It embarrassed him that she’d seen how little he owned.

She’d laid his straight razor on top of his notebook, and he took the hint, using the pitcher of water, bar of soap, and towel to clean up, and scrape the whiskers from his face.

He went downstairs for breakfast and the cook said, “Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Grayson.” That eased him some since it appeared River was claiming him.

He snagged a piece of bacon and wondered out loud where River was. The cook took pity on him and sent him to the shed at the back of the house.

When he walked in, River looked up from wrestling a picture frame bigger than her.

“I’m glad you’re awake. Would you pack these in that crate for me?”

She pointed at her stack of finished pictures, told him how they needed to be wrapped, and left him to his work. He finished packing the crate and went to the barn.

“River left on her Rover.” Amos announced. “She said she needed to finish the willow tree landscape promised to Judge Stanley.”

Amos had Sandy groomed and ready to ride.

It seemed odd approaching the willow tree from this side, and when Edge reached the top of the bluff, he paused to scan the area below, looking for River and her easel. A spot of blue in the willow tree pinpointed where she’d perched for the day, reminding him of the first time they’d almost met.

He rode Sandy down the hill, past the tree, and to the fence on the other side. After he laid out his tools, he pulled off his shirt and started hammering.

By midmorning, he’d worked up both a sweat and an appetite, and he decided a visit to the spy in the tree was in order. To his shock, somehow while he’d been banging away on the fence, she’d climbed down and left.

Feeling hollow inside as if something fine was slipping from his fingers, he tried to figure out how to handle his new bride. He wasn’t completely stupid. As friendly as she was with the judge, if she wanted the marriage set aside, she’d make it happen.

He didn’t want to ride back to
his
barn. The last time he’d been there, Emmett Price had been dead on the floor. Edge stalled as long as he could and finally returned to the Prescott Ranch. He hung around in the barn, happy that at least Sandy had a solid roof over his head and fresh straw under his feet.

By supper, Edge had shifted from pillar to post and back again, trying to find something to do with himself. River seemed oblivious to his unease.

The closer it got to bed time, the less he knew what he should do. She was awake tonight. They were married.

She was already in bed by the time he finished in the bathing chamber and went to her bedroom.

“We’ll need a bigger bed,” she said as soon as he walked in.

He had on his clean denims and before he shed them and climbed in beside her, he blew the light out. As soon as he slid between the sheets, his naked thigh touched her naked thigh and heat sizzled up and down his skin. He turned on his side, curling around her body. She’d left off her nightgown, which told him right off she wasn’t scared or shy. Regardless of whether
she
was afraid or not,
he
was. Next to her diminutive size, he felt like a giant.

What if I hurt her?
“River.” He said her name, half in question as doubts assailed him. Edge leaned above her, trying to see her face through the veil of night.

“Yes,” her husky one-word reply floated in the air between them.

“Before anything else, I want you to know, I love you.”

“I hoped,” she whispered back, “because, I love you too.” Her fingers entwined with his and her other hand touched his hip, stroking her fingers over his flesh.

“I’m real proud you decided to become my wife,” he continued awkwardly.

“I never thought I’d marry.” Her words reminded Edge of their afternoon tryst when she’d proposed being lovers.

“I know that,” he admitted gruffly. “I’m real sorry my situation caused—”

“You’ve only been my husband a few days, but now I can’t imagine
not
being married to you,” she reassured him. “I will celebrate our wedding by painting a magnificent full length portrait of you. All of you.” Her tone sounded reverent as her hand explored the length of his thigh, the distance from hip to chest, and the circumference of his nipple.

“You do understand that what you’re doing right now is perilously close to torture,” he muttered, his voice sounding strained to his own ears as River clasped his shaft in her hand and tentatively stroked.

“River,” Edge drawled, laughing at her just a little bit. “Let’s start things off right with a kiss.”

He ran his hand down her back, pausing to caress her as he pulled her tighter against him. Tasting River for the first time, he caught the sound of her husky moan with his lips and held her trembling body closer in his arms, nuzzling his face against her neck, taking pleasure as he inhaled the scent of lilacs and of her.

She was so small, so delicate, so determined. “Does that feel good?” she whispered, resuming her attentions to the rigid flesh between his thighs. He groaned, and in response she gripped him tighter, pumping up and then down again, slowly.

“Sweetheart, me being so much bigger than you, and you being new to this, maybe we should…” Edge figured him being more experienced than her, he ought to take charge soon, but what she was doing felt real fine, so he didn’t quarrel with the immediate bliss.

“I have a book,” she informed him, and those were the last words she said before she ducked under the sheet.

Edge remained rigid, grasping the bedding on either side of him with a white-knuckled grip as River kissed her way from his nipple, down his ribs, to his navel. When her warm breath skated over his groin and centered on his cock, he shuddered in ecstasy.

*

River had never been so happy. She talked Edge through the initial consummation since he was certain he’d kill her with his size. He did not. She had studied the pictures in her manual and offered him suggestions, which as it turned out, he didn’t need.

Afterward, she lay with her head on his chest listening to his heart beat. While he slept, she stroked her finger in a line from his shoulder down his arm, and memorized the bumps and bones in his wrist. Pressing her nose against his flesh, she breathed in the scent of his skin and planned her next canvas—the picture of a sun-kissed cowboy.

Not any cowboy,
she corrected her thoughts, closing her eyes in contentment.
My Edge.

EPILOGUE

Six months later…

Edge turned the book over in his hand and looked at it in amazement.
Kid Starks Rides
A
gain—
the title appeared in bold letters across the front. Underneath, in a much more modest font, the words,
Story
by Edge Grayson
and
Illustrations by River Prescott
appeared.

“They’ve already sold out of the first printing and want more,” she grumbled as if she wasn’t as excited as him.

“You said you tossed it,” he scolded. River, it seemed, had a penchant for telling different versions of the truth. Edge hadn’t complained when his notebook went missing after he’d first moved in. The first couple of weeks had been pretty hectic, and when he’d asked River what happened to it, she’d been apologetic and claimed to have thrown it away.

“I wanted to surprise you. It’s gorgeous isn’t it?”

“You surprised me,” he said gruffly, emotion making his voice rough. “I hope the Kid’s up there looking down and can see.” He touched Kid’s name on the front and his own name next to hers underneath.

“If he is, I’m sure he’s pleased.”

Edge laid Kid’s story on the table and crossed to River, pulling her from behind her easel and into his embrace.

“I love you,” he growled before covering her lips with his.

“I love you, too,” she murmured. Her arms went around his neck, and she clung to him, returning his kiss with passion.

“I suppose now that you’re an author, I’ve lost my best subject and the bridge will never get built,” she said breathlessly when the kiss ended.

“The bridge is a work in progress as you well know. And if you stayed here every day instead of traipsing down to the willow tree to watch, I’d get a lot more done.”

“But you’d have a lot less fun,” she said quickly.

Her words made Edge smile inside. River was something all right.
Original
that’s what the lawyer in town had called her. After she’d coaxed Edge into agreeing to pose for a portrait, she’d lured him into her studio and stunned him with the gift of the book.

“As for being your model; I’m here.”

“Exactly,” she said dramatically, stepping behind the canvas and taking up her palette. She pointed a brush at him. “It’s time to focus. We have a painting to complete.”

“So what do you want me to do and where do you want me to do it?” He couldn’t keep a hint of surliness from his tone. Her portrait idea was pure silliness but he’d taken on the job of spoiling her so he didn’t argue. Edge glanced at the book and admitted she spoiled him more than a little, too.

“After you've removed your clothes, please stand in the pool of sunlight, slanting through the window.”

Feeling like a damned fool, he stripped stark naked; with great reluctance, he posed in her puddle of sunlight while she gave him instructions from behind her easel.

“Now, touch yourself as you did by the river,” she said in a superior tone that announced she was unimpressed with his cock, other than of course, for purposes of art. He knew better. He spent each night with her in their new bed.

Edge started to refuse, then paused. “Exactly who's going to be looking at this picture?”

“Me.” A hint of red touched her cheeks and her serious expression became an impish grin. “I’m calling it
River’s Edge
. What do you think?”