SleepyHollow2BookBundle (15 page)

John didn’t ask “know what?”, but knew that the question was written on his face.

“I will not abandon you,” Brom said firmly. “Not now, and not after the wedding.”

A terrible mixture of fierce joy and bitter guilt erupted within John, the emotions so entangled that he scarcely knew where one ended and the other began. Brom’s promise hadn’t merely been something said rashly during a fit of passion. He’d known that, deep down, but was now forced to acknowledge the truth of it. “But Katrina…” Her name rushed to his lips, causing his guilt to surge.

“Katrina loves you. She would not want you to die from despair of our happiness.”
 

John didn’t know what to say to that, which was just as well, for a thick lump had formed in his throat, effectively rendering him mute. He struggled silently with it for a few moments, finally managing to swallow. Raising a hand to his face, he pulled Brom’s hand from his cheek. Pressing it onto the desk, he covered it with his own. “It’s not your happiness that tortures me. It’s the thought of being cut off from both of you.”

Brom’s hand was still but tense beneath John’s. “Then you have nothing to fear.” He pulled his hand away, pressing it to John’s face again. He traced the arch of John’s eyebrow with his thumb, then threaded his fingers through his hair, sending the ribbon that secured it fluttering to the floor. “Maybe it’s as you say, and there’s some spell on this place – on us. I’ve felt the magic of it tingling in my veins from the first moment I saw you, and I have no desire for it to stop.”

John exhaled slowly, reveling in the pinpricks of pleasure that raced down his spine as Brom’s fingers cupped the back of his skull. He could feel the man’s breath on his lips, hot and gloriously familiar. In that moment, there wasn’t a single fiber of his being that wanted it to stop, ever.

“Do you remember that day?” Brom asked, his voice low and rough. “In the field between here and the Jansens’ farm?”

“Of course.” John was aware of his own voice becoming rougher as he spoke. How could he not remember? It had only been his second day in Sleepy Hollow. Brom had volunteered to show him the lay of the place, and neither of them had expected an erotic tumble in an empty field. But it had just…happened. Things had a tendency to do that in Sleepy Hollow, and sometimes it really did feel as if there was a spell on the place. John was unsure of whether he thought the enchantment lovely or terrifying.

Brom crushed his lips against John’s, pulling him into a kiss that reminded John of their first. It was rough and thorough, but with a tender edge. Brom kept his hand in John’s hair when they finally pulled apart. “You tried to take yourself away from me,” Brom said. “I would never do that to you.”

John had been left somewhat breathless by the kiss. “Surely you see that I had no reason to think that you would wish to continue our relationship.”

Brom frowned, and the expression carved fierce lines around his mouth that weren’t usually there. “What reason did you have to think that I’d rather see you dead than carry on with our relations?”

John felt the color rise in his cheeks, burning fiercely as his stomach contracted into a hard ball of stunned rage. “Is that what this is about?” he demanded, dashing Brom’s hand away and rising to fume over the desk at the other man. “You wish to continue our relationship in the interest of keeping me alive?”

“No!” Brom bellowed, shocking John so that he almost took a step backward. Almost.

Standing his ground, John stared directly into Brom’s eyes, which looked absolutely black when he was angry. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“It’s not that at all.”

“Then what is it?” John demanded, knowing he was provoking Brom, but not caring. The man had struck a serious blow to his pride – something he hadn’t realized was even possible anymore, after the previous night’s events. The thought of Brom fucking him as a charitable act made him want to blow his brains out, after giving Brom a couple of black eyes to remember him by. He knew he’d been a fool in his relations with Brom and Katrina…but damn it all, he’d thought that Brom had at least returned his passion – his addiction – if not his bone-deep affection.

“I love you,” Brom said, as if he were simply stating the time of day. “That’s what it is.”

John froze, barely managing to keep himself steady with a vice-like grip on the edge of the desk. Brom’s confession had hit him with all the power of a gunshot, and for half a moment, he almost thought he could hear the pistol fire from the night before. Brom’s anger took on a new meaning, and John felt suddenly chilled. His heart beat in double-time as he continued to hold Brom’s gaze, and he touched the tip of his tongue to the rim of one lip, still tasting the other man. “I—”

The sound of hooves caused his words to die in his throat, and he looked past Brom, glancing worriedly toward the entrance. Several silent moments passed, and then a light rapping sounded against the door.

Brom turned on one heel, striding toward it before John could regain enough of his composure to make even the slightest movement.

“Brom, I didn’t know you were here.” Katrina’s musical voice drifted across the threshold, causing John’s heart to race even faster with alarm.

Brom stepped gallantly aside, laying a hand on Katrina’s arm and escorting her into the tiny schoolhouse. She was wearing a fine blue gown that set off her golden hair, and a basket hung from her arm. She smiled when she saw John. “If I’d known, I would have baked more,” she said, gesturing modestly with her basket.
 

John straightened, finally letting go of the desk. Being here, alone with Brom and Katrina…it was like something out of a dream. Whether a good one or a bad one, he couldn’t say. The aroma of fresh gooseberry pie wafted toward him, and his stomach growled, as if to spite him and the seriousness of the situation.

Katrina laughed, the sound of it refreshingly clear and light. “Did you have any breakfast, John?”

He nodded. “An enormous one. Mrs. Jansen takes breakfast very seriously.”

This seemed to amuse Katrina further, and she laughed again as she rested her basket on the desk. “Well, I’ve come to return your favorite volume of poetry, and I thought that a pie wouldn’t go amiss.”

John felt a spark of surprise, as much at Katrina’s words as at how easily he found himself slipping into one of their typical, easy-going conversations. “You’ve finished with it already?” Her news brought a twinge of regret. It really was his favorite, and he’d thought that she’d like it, too. Surely she hadn’t read it through already – he must have been wrong. This small misjudgment felt like salt in the wound of his recent misinterpretations.

“Yes,” she said, laying the heavy book on his desk. “It was wonderful.” Her rosebud mouth curled in a convincing smile, but there was an unusual glimmer in her blue eyes.

John took the book, caressing the leather spine as he contemplated her expression. That glimmer…was it only a bit of guilt, or something else? It seemed almost…knowing. Could she be thinking of the night before? His mouth went dry at the thought. Could she know what had really transpired? Surely Brom wouldn’t have told her, and this had to be the first time the two of them had spoken since then anyway… This line of logic did little to loosen the uneasy knots in his stomach.

“I baked you a gooseberry pie,” Katrina said. “Your favorite.”

John smiled, hoping that the expression seemed genuine enough. He
did
love a good gooseberry pie, especially one of Katrina’s. “How kind of you.”

She reached into her basket and pulled out the pie, which was resting in a shallow glass dish and covered with a light cloth. She whisked it aside, revealing a glorious confection with a latticed top crust that was haloed with little hand-shaped dough leaves, baked to a perfect golden brown. The sweet and tart smell of it wafted up and hit John in the face like a ton of bricks, causing his mouth to moisten in anticipatory appreciation.

“And a fork,” she added, smiling at him as she lifted the utensil from the bottom of her basket.

A pleasant tingling sensation raced up his arm when her fingers brushed his as she pressed the fork into his hand. He took it, feeling wistful when her soft skin brushed his for the last time. Though the pie’s aroma was strong, he imagined that he could smell her scent too, sweet and delicate. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry Brom,” Katrina said, smiling at her fiancé. “I would have made a pumpkin pie too, if I’d known I’d be meeting you this morning.”

He returned her smile good-naturedly. “That’s quite all right – I’m sure John can’t possibly manage to eat all the gooseberry by himself.” There was a hint of sarcasm to his tone – all three of them knew very well that John
could
down an entire pie on his own.

Katrina gazed at each man, her eyes sparkling. “If you say so, Brom. But the two of you will have to make do with one fork.”

“Ah, we’ll manage,” Brom said, and cast one last glance at the pie before turning to face the door. “Is that your father in the carriage?”

Katrina nodded. “We’re heading into Tarrytown. I thought I’d stop by the Jansens’ on the way to return John’s book, but they told me he’d come here.”
 

Mr. Van Tassel was waving from the carriage, seated behind a pair of handsome grey horses. Like Katrina, he was dressed for going into town. “What’s the occasion?” John asked, enjoying the temporary suspension from reality that Katrina’s presence seemed to have granted him. Her laughter and thoughtfulness were a balm to his nerves, and the pie had wakened his appetite, which had taken temporary precedence over his worries.

“I’m going to have a new dress commissioned,” Katrina replied, smiling demurely. “A wedding gown.”

John had taken his first bite of the gooseberry pie, and it seemed to turn into a small stone in the pit of his stomach at the mention of the wedding. His conversation with Brom leapt to the forefront of his mind, and it was all he could do not to dwell on it. “How lovely,” he managed to say, shoving another bite of pie into his mouth so that he wouldn’t have to worry about controlling his facial expressions.

“I’m going to say hello to your father,” Brom said, ducking away from the desk and toward the door. “Back in a few moments.”

Before John or Katrina could say anything, he was gone, bellowing a greeting as he strode toward the plump man seated in the carriage outside.

Katrina continued the conversation in Brom’s absence. “Yes, I only hope that the seamstress doesn’t have a busy schedule – the gown will need to be finished within two weeks.”

John’s latest bite of pie tried to stick in his throat when he swallowed. “That soon?” he asked, coughing lightly.

“Yes.” Katrina nodded. “The wedding is set to take place in just thirteen days.” A small, private half-smile played around the corners of her mouth, and a rosy blush touched her cheeks.

“I’m happy for you,” John said, and meant it, despite the pang of agony the thought of the wedding gave him.

“I know you are, John,” Katrina said, reaching out and laying her hand over his. Her small, slender fingers were wonderfully warm. “You’ll attend the wedding, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied, setting his fork down in the pie dish and meeting her eyes. “I expect all of Sleepy Hollow will come to see you and Brom married.”

She smiled in earnest, gripping his hand. “Yes, but your attendance in particular would mean a great deal to me.”

She had that strange glimmer in her eyes again, the one that was at odds with the full curve of her smile. “I’ll be there,” John promised.

“Wonderful.” She gripped his hand a little tighter and leaned forward. For one fleeting moment, John thought she meant to kiss him. His heart sped at the thought, and a fresh wave of heat shot straight to his groin as he eyed her full mouth. She stopped though, her lips a mere inch from his cheek. When she spoke, her breath tickled his ear. “Brom’s a good man, and so are you, John. I’ve dreamt of my wedding day many a time, and you were always there when I imagined it.” She paused, sucking in a breath, leaving John’s cheek cool and tingling. “Sometimes I think…” Her voice wavered, but she still managed to sound as melodious as ever. “Sometimes I think it’s a shame that one of you – you and Brom, I mean – must be at the pulpit, and the other in the pews.”

There came a clattering sound at the doorway, and Brom’s shadow darkened the threshold. As he called a hearty last goodbye to Mr. Van Tassel, Katrina leaned back, her lips just barely brushing John’s cheek, their touch feather-light. Brom strode into the schoolhouse, heading straight for the desk. “Haven’t eaten all of the pie, have you?” he asked, apparently oblivious to the expression of shock John was working so hard to conceal.

“No,” John said, pushing the dish toward Brom. “Have some.”

Brom seized the dish with a hand that was almost as large as the pie itself and lowered it into his lap as he perched on the edge of the desk. Picking up the fork, he shoveled a bite into his mouth. An expression of bliss softened the hard angles of his face just a little. “Perfect,” he said, with a nod toward Katrina.
 

She smiled, her cheeks going a shade pinker with pleasure. “I’m glad you think so. I’ll leave you two to it – I must see the seamstress as soon as possible, if my gown is to be finished in time.” She glided toward the door with spritely speed before either of the men could offer her an arm. “I’ll tell father you said hello, John. And why don’t you stop by the farm sometime soon to return my baking dish and fork? I’ll make you another pie when you do.” She smiled and disappeared before John could consent.