Page 30 of The Gunslinger’s Bride (Montana Mavericks: Historicals #1)

“O h, hi.”

“Where’s your mother?” Everett moved past Jonathon to step into the kitchen and close the door. “Hello, Abby.”

“Guess what I got?” Jonathon asked.

He glanced down. “I came to speak with your mother.”

“I got a dog. Hith name’th Dilly. Wanna thee him?”

“Hi z name i z Dilly,” Everett corrected, enunciating the S’ s. “Do I want to s-s ee him? Not particularly.” He glanced around and spotted the line of damp clothing. “You do your own laundry?”

Defensive anger had welled up in Abby’s breast. “Why don’t we step into the other room and let Jonathon do his schoolwork?” she suggested.

Everett followed her to the sitting room, where the dog raised his head from his mat and wagged his tail.

“Good God, where did that pathetic-looking mongrel come from?”

“Jonathon’s been nursing him to health. He’s done a fine job of it, too.”

“Why you’d allow the creature in your home is more than I can understand,” her fiancé said.

“Everett, please don’t correct Jonathon’s speech again,” she said plainly.

“He’s seven years old and still talks like a baby.”

“He’ll grow out of it if we don’t make him self-conscious. He’s just a child.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t had a chance to leave work the last few days, and I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me Friday evening.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’ll find someone to stay with the boy.”

“Yes,” she replied, then realized he never involved Jonathon in their time together.

“Do you want to sit?” she asked.

He glanced at the divan, then brushed his hands across his black coat. “Thank you, no.”

“I’ll take your coat.”

“No, I’ll be going now.” He walked back though the kitchen. “Until Friday.”

“Good night.” She slipped the lock into place and turned to study her son.

He glanced up from his figures on the paper. “He don’t like dog z, I gue s-s. ”

“Some people don’t.”

“We won’t have to get rid of Dilly when you marry him, will we?”

“No,” she promised. “Dilly’s yours to keep. I give my word.” Just as she’d given her word to marry Everett.

She avoided Brock the rest of the week, assuring him by Friday that Dilly was strong enough to travel the stairs on his own.

Daisy and Asa were happy to have Jonathon for the evening, so Abby bathed and dressed in blessed quiet.

When Everett came for her, she donned her boots and coat and accompanied him to the hotel.

They shared a pleasant meal, and she was able to forget his behavior around Jonathon for an hour or so.

To her chagrin, Brock and John Whitefeather showed up and were shown to a nearby table.

She looked the other direction, but felt Brock’s gaze boring into her as if she was an insect pinned to a display board.

“I’m appalled at the riffraff they allow in this establishment,” Everett complained.

She attempted to change the subject. A few minutes later, a bottle of wine was delivered to their table.

“From the gentleman over there,” the waitress said, nodding.

Brock gave them a sardonic salute.

Abby fumed.

Everett examined the bottle. “Excellent choice. Thank the man for us.”

Abby stared at him.

The waitress moved away, and Everett uncorked the bottle and filled their glasses.

“I don’t care for any, thank you,” she said stiffly.

“A virtuous woman never touches spirits,” he said with an appreciative note in his voice.

If Brock hadn’t been watching them, she would have been tempted to snatch the bottle from Everett’s hand and crack him over the head with it. The mental picture alone was satisfying.

Everett took a blissful sip.

Brock raised a brow at Abby.

She looked away. “Might we visit your place tonight?”

Everett’s eyebrows rose. “I live at the boardinghouse, as you well know. Any fraternizing with guests of the opposite sex is prohibited.”

“Couldn’t you get me in without anyone seeing?”

“I wouldn’t even attempt it, and I’m shocked that you would ask.”

“It just seems our time together is so brief,” she re plied.

“That will change once we’re married,” he said.

That’s what she’d hoped about everything. He drank another glass of wine, then instructed the waitress to cork it and wrap it so he could take it home.

He walked her toward the hardware store, and Abby pulled her collar up against the cold. Once inside, Dilly met them. Abby closed the door and locked it. “Would you like coffee?”

“Tea perhaps.” Everett avoided the dog by stepping away.

“Sit in the other room while I prepare us a pot.”

He moved away, Dilly sniffing after him and emitting low growls.

Abby shushed him before boiling water and steeping tea, then carried a tray into the sitting room. She spooned sugar into her fiancé’s cup and handed the hot drink to him on a saucer.

“Thank you.”

She took her own cup and sat beside him.

After a lengthy silence, she asked, “Where do you usually take your supper?”

“Mrs. Harroun provides breakfast and supper for her boarders,” he replied.

“I’ve heard she’s a good cook.”

“Adequate.”

“Do you visit with the other boarders of an evening?”

He sipped and lowered the cup. “Occasionally.”

“Surely you don’t stay in your room alone every night.”

“I’m not much for mixing with the other boarders.”

Abby set her tea down. “I’m curious about something. Before you were—interested in my company, did you have someone else in mind to court?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought a handsome bachelor like yourself would be more interested in someone younger. Someone who’d never been married before.”

“You’re not that old,” he replied.

He wouldn’t kill her with gushing compliments anytime soon. “Seems I recall you were seeing one of the Cooper girls some time back.”

“She married a rancher from up north.”

“Women aren’t plentiful out here,” Abby said. “I guess I was a prospect just because I was a female.”

He gave her an odd look.

She shrugged in resignation.

“You’re insinuating I’m not discriminating, which I assure you is not the case.”

“Good. Glad to know that not just anyone would do.”

“You’re behaving rather strangely, Abby.”

“Am I? A woman wants to be assured that the man she’s going to marry finds her desirable.”

He thrust his chin out above his collar in a gesture of discomfort.

“Do you find me desirable, Everett?”

“Without question.”

“I don’t just mean as marriage material. I mean as a partner…you know.”

His ears turned red. “I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation.”

“Between two people who are engaged? Why ever not?”

“Ladies don’t talk about such things.”

“I see.” She took his cup and placed it on the low serving table. “Will you kiss me a few times, then—without us talking about it, of course?”

He turned toward her, his expression wary, and lifted an arm to the back of the divan. His gaze explored her face and rested on her lips. He swallowed.

If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was afraid. But what did he have to fear? Perhaps men were nervous about a woman’s acceptance of them. That was it. She could assure him. In the back of her mind a faint taunt rang: My God, Abby, you’d eat him alive. She blocked it out.

Seconds ticked past as she waited for him to lean forward or take her in his arms. Beginning to feel as nervous as he looked, she touched her hair at her neck and gave him a weak smile.

Finally, he leaned forward. She was so grateful that he’d taken the initiative that she met him and their noses collided.

Not discouraged, she fitted her lips to his and herself to the kiss.

His lips were warm and soft, not objectionable.

But he remained like that, not seeming to breathe or move, until she opened her eyes and dared a peek.

His eyes were shut.

Abby raised her hand and placed it along his collar.

He brought a hand to her waist.

Still their lips were fused, but unmoving.

Maybe he hadn’t had much practice, she thought with a start. She allowed herself to breathe and lean into him, turning her head slightly, changing the alignment of their mouths.

He took the encouragement, wrapped his other arm around her and intensified the kiss by holding her tighter.

Abby felt no rush of sensation, no liquid fire chug through her veins.

But that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

To stay in control of herself? To have a tight rein on her passions?

He was making it easy. Just as she’d never experienced fire and loss of restraint with Jed, she wouldn’t have to fear it with Everett.

All of Brock’s gibes rose up to take bites of her confidence. You don’t really want Matthews. She snuggled all the tighter against the man she planned to marry. She would prove Brock Kincaid wrong if it killed her.

Perhaps Everett just needed a little more warming up to turn the effect upon her. She ran her hands inside his coat jacket and touched him through his shirt, finding him warm and solid, if not as broad or muscled as Brock.

His breathing picked up pace, and he spread a hand around her waist. This was more like it.

Jonathon has a real father, and you’re denying him.

She wasn’t denying anyone anything by making a sound marriage choice. She touched Everett’s hair, not as long, not as silky as Brock’s. He pulled his lips away to kiss her neck. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but no tremors ran through her body.

Boldly, she took his hand and placed it over her breast through her layers of clothing.

His whole arm grew rigid and he didn’t move his hand.

She kissed him again, waiting for the pleasure to begin, waiting for him to make a move that set her on fire.

She hated Brock’s overconfident demeanor, his lack of care, his manipulative purpose and the coarse words.

This was the kind of man she wanted.

Everett pulled his hand back and released Abby as though she was a red-hot iron. She felt nothing. No regret, no shame, no desire. Nothing.

If he found her desirable, he hadn’t showed it. Perhaps that was the difference between a gentleman and gunslinger.