River's Edge (Unlikely Gentlemen, Book 1) (9 page)

“Do you have a special woman friend?”

A smile tugged at his lips and he answered, gruffly, “I’m working on it.”

River didn’t hold back on being nosy so Edge decided he’d get some answers, too. “How come
you
haven’t married?”

CHAPTER TEN

Missing parts…

River couldn’t pinpoint exactly why she found Edge so fascinating. He was, by his own accounts, a simple man who had lived a rough and tumble life. His grammar was sometimes wanting, and although she would have denied being an intellectual snob to others, she admitted to herself that she often was.

All the more reason to wonder why Mr. Grayson’s occasional
double negative
or use of
ain’t
, delivered in his gravelly drawl, roused her passion instead of her disdain. Even his clothed physique drew her admiration.

Instead of awkward, or clumsy, as she’d found so many tall men to be, Edge handled his height with sinuous grace. She found his craggy features and dark hair oddly pleasing to her artistic sense. She especially enjoyed his humor that showed itself in unexpected moments, usually accompanied by his wry smile that made her heart melt.

But after all was said and done, it was because he made her so comfortable with herself that she liked him so much. With that in mind, she told him the truth when he asked why she’d not married.

“I don’t have the necessary components to be considered womanly.”

Edge sat up on the blanket and studied her, as if looking for serious flaws. But, she didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes as he asked, “What parts are you missing?”

“I’m skinny, flat-chested, and built like a twelve year old boy. I have nothing that would appeal to a man, other than a sizable bank account and a sturdy home.” As soon as she said it aloud, she wanted to recall her words, lest he look and see the reality he’d somehow missed.

“Not so.” He shook his head, cupped her face between his hands and said, “I wouldn’t marry you for your house.” He took his hands away and she immediately missed the feel of his calloused palms against her skin. “But, your kitchen appeals to me.” His smile was teasing. “It reminds me of you.”

“Meaning?”

“Your kitchen’s warm and full of things that smell good and taste better.” He inhaled, drawing in her scent and making her shiver inside. “Pretty,” he murmured.

River chilled, gazing at him with disappointment, not expecting the empty platitude.

“I am many things, but pretty isn’t one of them.”

He studied her again, cocking his head sideways as if pondering the great mysteries of the world.

“I don’t know. I like the way your hair is so fine, it falls loose from whatever you try to tie it back with.” He picked up a lock that had slithered free and showed it to her before tucking it behind her ear. “Silky, soft, pretty. And, like you, it has a mind of its own.”

River was still reeling from the brush of his fingers against her neck when he continued with his analysis.

“And I would argue that you’re not skinny at all. You’re …” He paused, searching for words and then smiled and gave her back her own. “Your body is honed to perfection—as sharp and flawless as the edge of a steel blade.”

Had he been inches closer, River felt certain she would have crawled into his lap and snuggled in his arms. He made her want to be held and cuddled and never let go. Before she could artfully topple forward, he scooted farther away on the blanket and put distance between them.

“As for the other… You’re wrong about that too,” Edge said.

“What?” she’d already been given so many compliments her head was spinning.

“For the record, little girl,” he leered at her playfully. “I don’t get hard for big bank accounts, fancy houses, or twelve year old boys."

He paused and smiled wryly. “But I get hard for you.”

It was a terribly inappropriate statement. River loved it. She wanted to be equally daring and touch him to check if he was hard at the moment. She actually reached, and he intercepted her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the palm.

She stared, mind boggled at how she wanted to experience so much more with him than a few hours during each day. Ready to suggest they share a mutually beneficial physical liaison, she opened her mouth to speak. He returned her hand to her lap and covered it with his own for a moment, his heat seeping into her belly and radiating lower. Then he patted her arm affectionately, withdrew and River lost her nerve.

“For all I know,” she said with asperity, “you get hard if the wind blows the right way.” Nevertheless, heat flooded her cheeks when she thought about calling such a response from him.

When he didn’t deny her remark and instead, laughed out loud, she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.
Ask him.
They were discussing an intimate subject. It was only a hop, skip, and not even a jump to the next topic on her mind.

Again she opened her lips, ready to invite him to be her lover. He was perfect. She wanted him. He lived close by and she could help him with his efforts to rebuild the Grayson spread. She saw no impediment to the idea; except perhaps Edge himself as he returned to his original question.

“Since we’ve established that all of your excuses are just a smokescreen, tell me the real reason you haven’t married.”

“If you want the truth—which most people don’t—I have no inclination to marry.” There, she’d established that she wasn’t husband hunting. Now she needed to find some less than awkward way of inviting him to…
There is only one truth that matters right now.
I want to explore his body and feel his hands on me? I want to be lovers.

She now accepted that their mutual attraction was real. Though she had no idea why, Edge found her attractive, she knew she aroused him sexually. Perhaps he was deficient too; perhaps he only found small, underdeveloped women attractive. She didn’t care why. She wanted him more than she’d wanted her Rover. Almost more than she wanted to paint.

“Do you want children?” he asked.

She considered her answer before speaking, since the socially correct response differed from her feelings.

“Actually, I’m ambivalent; I have never had any maternal instincts demanding attention. I’m sure it’s another of my deficiencies. Once I was put in charge of minding the children at Sunday School—just the once.” She rolled her eyes at him.

He smiled. “Didn’t have the urge to take any of ‘em home with you?”

“No, not at all. But, candidly since you’ve asked, as I approach the age when my child bearing years will expire, I feel my parents looking down from heaven and demanding that I procreate for the sake of leaving the Prescott Ranch to someone.”

She laughed as she told him, surprised that it was the truth and she’d brazenly opened the door for his next question.

“How old are you?” he asked, predictably.

“I am older than you; suffice to say, that is all you need to know.”

“Fifty-seven?” he barked, shocking her.

“Of course not. Do I look fifty-seven?” Her question changed from a snarl to anxiety that perhaps her mirror lied—until he snickered. “Twenty-nine,” she snapped.

“Hell, you’ve got plenty of time. Why I’ve known women in their forties packing a kid on the hip and another at breast.”

River wanted to smack him. He’d deliberately sabotaged their titillating conversation changing the course from desire to views on marriage and children.

Accustomed to his descriptive homilies about places and people he’d seen, she visualized a woman with a baby on her hip as she fed another… Suddenly the woman in the vision became River and she shuddered.

“And your thoughts on matrimony?” she asked, abruptly, for some reason expecting him to share her poor regard for the institution.

“I want a wife. I want babies—lots of ’em.”

“What?” She stared at him appalled.

“You asked,” he said and shrugged.

“But. But. You don’t have—”

“A place for a wife yet.” He finished her sentence and added, “But I will.” His firm resolve depressed her.

“Have you already selected someone?”

“I know what I want. When the time’s right, I figure it’ll happen.”

Without realizing it, she’d built nebulous dreams around an impossible future with him. Common sense told her to keep quiet; to hide her pain. Common sense had never been her strong suit.

“I suppose you want a woman of great beauty.” River’s mother had been a woman of grace and intellect, delicate of feature and sharp of wit. River’ father had been devoted to her. When she’d died, he’d ceased to live, though his body had continued to occupy space and breathe for another year.

“Now that’s a fool’s wish. First off, what one man thinks grand, another finds fault in. I don’t much care if others think my woman is beautiful. It’s more important that she know in
my eyes
she’s beautiful.”

My woman.
The possessive way he said it made her shiver inside. And yet, his answer reflected astute intelligence on the topic which upset her even more. He left nothing in his idea to mock or deride.

“Education?”

“I can read and write. If she can’t, I’ll teach her.”

“Social standing?”

“Grayson name or not, I’m a bastard and I expect no fancy pedigree from others.”

“Money, political standing, additional acreage are all considerations in the choosing of a wife, so I’m told.”

“If that’s what you had offered to you, no wonder you’re still unwed.” He shrugged all of her nay-saying queries away.

Irritation and disappointment made her reckless. “I intend to stay unwed. But, until you find the mother of your many children who owns a beautiful soul, perhaps you would consider an intimate liaison with me.” There it was said.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it wasn’t an answer but a question. “Will I be eating Sunday dinner with you?” he drawled.

“Well, of course, you’re invited,” she said.

“Then I’ll think over the proposition and give you my answer Sunday.”

She’d offered him the opportunity to be her lover and he wanted to think it over. His temerity left her speechless. She gathered the blanket, tablecloth and basket, knocking the chicken bones to the ground in her haste.

He acted like nothing untoward had happened, rolled her Rover up the hill, and accompanied her home. He didn’t stay for Friday supper, though he stopped to talk to Amos. She couldn’t help herself and stood on the porch watching him before he left.

River preferred to control the way things happened, but she had an uneasy feeling she’d just been maneuvered in some way yet to be understood.

* * * * *

By Saturday night, River felt almost fevered waiting for her affair to begin or to find out that it never would. She assured herself that Edge intended to accept her offer but the fact that he’d needed time to consider it, made her afraid. Just in case he favored her with a
yes
, she dragged out her illustrated copy of the Hindu marriage guide she’d purchased in Austin the year before.

She’d never regretted spending the enormous amount it cost; especially as she studied the pictures to show her what she should expect and do. She imagined herself the greatest courtesan a man could ever desire, sharing heavenly intimacies with Edge and giving him pleasure in a hundred different ways.

Sunday finally arrived, and she spent the morning seething with anticipation and desire. That quickly changed to icy fear when Edge hadn’t arrived by the time the food was ready to set on the table.

What if I’ve driven him away?
Though it seemed inconceivable with Edge, all of her other suitors had fled. Of course, she’d certainly never made them such an offer. She felt that she knew Edge well enough to understand he wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye. Or, at least, she didn’t think he would.

But, when the gravy had congealed in the bowl, and the pork chops were cold, she stopped pretending things were fine and changed out of her Sunday dress into breeches.

Amos didn’t question her concern and accompanied her to the Grayson spread. The barn was empty of horse and man, but remnants of death remained. A dark stain spread across the wooden floor.

“Blood,” Amos announced after bending to touch it. “A lot of it.”

River had never felt such loss. Never. Clawing anguish threatened to tear her insides apart.

“Now don’t jump to conclusions,” Amos told her. “We need to figure out what went on here.” His calm words filtered through her paralyzing fear.

“We need to go to town.” River scanned the room, noting the pattern of blood on the floor and the area covered by the scattered drops.

“Hank won’t be in. And knowing him, if there’s trouble, he’ll have the sheriff’s office locked up tight and he’ll not be found.”

“I don’t care about Hank. Beth will know what’s happened if anyone does. And, she’ll be home.”

* * * * *

It was late Sunday afternoon when River and Amos climbed the outer stairs to Beth’s apartment over the general store.

Her friend opened the door on the first knock.

“What’s happened,” River asked.

“Emmett Price is dead,” Talia called from Beth’s sitting room.