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Beneath her ear, Asa’s chest rose and fell with his even breathing. His fingers slid from her hair and explored the tops of her bare shoulders. She controlled the urge to cringe.
The rhythm of his breathing broke as he sighed, “Damn, I’m a selfish bastard.”
“Why?”
“Because I could chance that you won’t change your mind and give you time.”
She looked into his face. His grim expression squashed her small hope. “But you won’t,” she concluded out loud before asking, “Why?”
He had to know she was looking at him, but he didn’t take his gaze from the steady flame of the lamp. “Three reasons. First off, if I do get killed holding onto this ranch, you’d be back where you started with your ranch up for grabs to whoever lands you at the altar.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with consummating our vows.”
His free hand cupped her belly through the bunched up quilt. “If you had a baby, the child would inherit when he grew up, not your next husband.”
“If there was anything left to inherit,” she pointed out.
The pressure of his fingers increased. For absolutely no reason, she found it protective. “There’s always risks, but it’s the best odds you’ve got.”
As he was the best bet she had against losing it all. The similarity in their thinking was comforting. “You said there were three reasons?”
No mistake, the hand on her stomach was protective. And possessive. “The thought of a little one of my own has been nagging at me.”
“You want a son.” That she could understand. Her father had spent his whole life on two pursuits; building the ranch and getting a son.
“I’ll admit you dropping a delicate little girl first time off scares the beejezus out of me, but I expect I’d manage.”
She just bet it scared him. Men were obsessed with sons. “I’ll have you know, Mr. MacIntyre, women do not do anything as indelicate as ‘drop’ babies.”
“Well, you tell me the correct word and I’ll use it.”
“It’s not something that’s discussed.”
That got his attention away from the lamp. “If we’re not to discuss it, how am I to know when you get in the family way? Or if you need something when you do get that way?”
It was obvious he found the situation amusing while her cheeks were burning from the direction of the conversation. “I’m sure something will occur to me if the time ever comes,” she said through gritted teeth. “You mentioned a third reason?”
The corn husks rustled as he shifted to face her. His hands contracted in the quilt. “The only thing I’ve been thinking about since you laid out that fancy gambler is the way a man gets a woman pregnant.” The quilt started to loosen as he pulled. “And how much I wanted to do that with you.”
She closed her eyes. The time had come.
The tugging stopped. The loose hair on her forehead parted on his slow exhale. “That,” he admitted in a low voice, “and how much a bastard I feel for forcing this issue.”
She opened her eyes. Her gaze collided with his. He was going to stop. Instead of the relief she expected to feel, there was only an onslaught of terror. She couldn’t lose her home! Just as she couldn’t lose her last chance, because it suddenly occurred to her that, come morning, she wasn’t the only one who could walk away. While she loved this place with an intensity that went back to her grandfather, Mr. MacIntyre’s ties were only cemented in the nebulous hope of future profit.
She wet her lips and schooled her expression to calm. “You aren’t forcing anything.”
He shook his head and touched his index finger to her knuckles. “Darlin’, were you willing, you wouldn’t be popping the stitches in that quilt.”
She looked down. Her knuckles showed white through her skin. “I’m just nervous,” she explained. She counted to ten, and one by one, willed her fingers to relax. “I’m perfectly willing.”
He tugged on the quilt. She reflexively tightened her grip.
“I can see that.” His lips quirked again.
She straightened her spine and released the quilt. “I’m perfectly ready to uphold my end of the bargain, Mr. MacIntyre. I just don’t see why you insist on disrobing.”
His left eyebrow quirked up. “Because it’s more fun that way?”
She tossed her head. The quilt started to slip. “I fail to see where extreme mortification would be fun.” By widening her elbows, she was able to stop the quilt’s decent. “Until we get to know one another, do you think we could perform our duties modestly clothed?”
His expression went from amusement to shock and then back to amusement in the time it took her to take a hopeful breath.
“I see no reason why we need to abandon decorum,” she growled, piqued.
“Decorum?” he asked, his right eyebrow lifting to join the left.
