“Warner?” He shrugs off the name with a soft, easy laugh. “How you wound me, forgetting your husband’s name so quickly, Mara Shay. I may not be able to guard your dreams, but I can hold your hand afterward and tell you everything’s gonna be okay. Don’t look like that. Everybody needs a hand to hold, wife. Even me. And when you decide you want mine, you just reach out and grab it. It’s plenty big enough to protect yours and keep it safe.”
I bite back my startled dismay when the bed jostles, but it’s only Warren rolling to his stomach. “Besides,” he yawns out, “I’d much rather you than Old Widow Hester. She pinches.”
A ghostly smile attempts to form but falls away at a snuffle from Emmaline. I crane my neck away for another peek, but there’s nothing. She’s still asleep.
She’s safe.
I’m safe.
My eyes see it, but my head doesn’t believe it. Not with the heavy silence in the darkness.Buh-boom buh-boomgoes my heart, each pounding beat filling my throat. A wheeze whistles through my lips as the shadows play tricks on my mind. Without Warren talking anymore, the darkness triesto swallow me whole.Breathe, Mara…just breathe.A shameful part of me is ready to start an argument with him just so I don’t have to hear the cruel words from my dreams.
And then a soft hum fills the room. Low in pitch, but loud enough to break through my thoughts.
Strong enough to chase away the cloud of evil hovering behind closed eyes.
CHAPTER 6
MARA
Off-key singingand the clanging of dishes serenade me as I nurse Emmaline the next morning. The room—and the bed—feels much bigger with just the two of us in it. Bigger than any room I’ve had before. But why is Warren still in the house instead of out working the farm? Maybe he’ll finish eating and leave us alone so I can wash up.
Through the closed door, words from his song trickle in. I’ve never heard this one, but I don’t think it goes this way. “A kiss like silk, and skin like...like...somethingthatrhymeswithsilk...but not milk. Maybe satin? And then she touched my kneee...” The deep voice raises to a girlishly high note before fading into a hum.
A tiny fist—the one with the birthmark—rubs against the valley of my chest as my baby suckles from me. “What do you think about him, Emmaline? I’ve never met a man like him. One that’s silly and serious and seems to want to take care of me instead of using me. And to think he’s taken such a shine to you. Even calling you Little Bit instead of your full name.” The memory of last night’s dream steals two heartbeats from me, and I run a hesitant finger over herdamning mark, fierce resolve filling me. “I’ll never let him take you. I swear it.”
As if she understands, Emmaline fights her dark blue eyes open and stares into mine. She’s so innocent, this child of mine who blindly trusts me to take care of her in all ways when I can barely care for myself. Her mouth quivers around my nipple before resuming a sporadic and light sucking. We’re both still getting the hang of this nursing thing, and it’s not as easy as it would seem. The first few seconds of my milk coming down always takes her—and me—by surprise. Sometimes she even chokes on the stream. But she always settles into a rhythm, one that twists my stomach into achy cramps before smoothing out.
The door opens noisily, startling me enough that Emmaline’s mouth loses contact. Only a few seconds pass, but it’s still enough to have my heart pounding with a familiar dread that swiftly fades into irritated relief when I see it’s not another man paying for time with me.
“Sorry! Sorry...just me.” Warren balances a tray filled with food and a glass of juice that is sure to tip over if he’s not careful. “Tripped after I turned the doorknob. Hope I didn’t wake you. I wanted to have breakfast ready for you in bed on your first morning ho—ly shit.” The murmured curse barely reaches my ears. Stupefied, he stops in his tracks and swallows hard.
“What?” Taken aback by his intention of feeding me, I follow his gaze to the slick, darkened peak of my exposed breast. I shift uncomfortably, even more aware of the fact that I’m halfway dressed in a borrowed nightgown while he’s fully clothed in a red plaid shirt and denim pants.
“Sorry.” Warren’s voice is even deeper as he kicks the door closed behind him. “I didn’t know she was, umm, eating. You just, uh, have something right....” His chin dipstowards a creamy droplet of milk beaded above my nipple. “Right there.”
Lust of the eyes, Mara.
Mrs. Overstreet is correct. The best thing would be to cover myself, because if he sees my body, he may want to touch it. But the cynical part of me insists I need to tempt him and make him want me. To give him a reason to protect me like he said he would.
Seems by now you’d have learned that men’ll say anything to make a woman happy.
Even with Joe dead, I can’t escape him. And he’s right, the damn bastard. I press a grim kiss to Emmaline’s hair and settle her squirming form beside me. She was done anyway, so I may as well do this now.
Eyes are better than hands.
But that doesn’t mean I have to look at the leer that will inevitably spread over his face. Locking my gaze on the dried, tan patches of mud that lighten his black boots, I grit my teeth and wipe the wetness from my breast. His feet don’t move, but the sudden tension in his thighs tells me I have his complete attention.
Ugh. Men.
Show them a hint of bare skin, and suddenly they can only think with what’s between their legs. Why should I think this man would be any different? Just because of his fancy talk of protection and a bit of softness for a baby? Hardly. I force my fingers to slowly fasten the bottom button of my nightgown instead of rushing through them all, but by the time the second is secured, disgust for every man living and dead simmers on a slow boil. I’m tired of my body belonging to everyone except for me. How foolish I was to think his words held any truth.
Orange liquid spills onto the floor, and I freeze, fingersfaltering at the fourth button. A quick glance shows his trousers are still flat and fastened, and a look further up reveals long fingers strangling the handles of the tray as juice steadily drizzles over the edge.
“Shit.” Warren’s curse is muffled as he rights the glass and passes me the tray. “I mean sorry. Stay there, okay? Lemme get this cleaned up right quick.”
Mixed emotions run through me as I watch him yank something from the wardrobe to throw onto the floor. I don’t know what to make of him. Is he an intimidating man or a fumbling schoolboy?
Instead of a leer, he offers me a sheepish grin as his dirty boot drags what was once a clean shirt back and forth. “I, uh…I didn’t know what you like most, so I kinda did it all. Breakfast, I mean.”
