Page 68 of Love’s Silver Bullet

Petrified she’d wake up the entire ranch, he ducked back into the barn and set her against the wall, silencing her with a kiss that suddenly silenced all his denial as well. The lava was back as she slowly slid down with a soft moan, their mouths never parting while he bundled her in his arms, lost in the taste of the woman of his dreams.

God help me, I love her!

The stark realization both stunned and stoked, inflaming his desire for a woman he couldn’t have. But he could have this one single moment, he decided, when he could pour all of his love and passion into protecting her from any other man. Arm to her waist, he jerked her close with a kiss that made her go limp in his arms, infusing him with a possession he’d never felt for a woman before.

Butting her to the wall, he tunneled fingers into her hair to cradle her face in his hands, taking her mouth with a vengeance that mated her moan with his. “No other lips but mine,” he rasped against her jaw, trailing to suckle the lobe of her ear. “Swear it, Sheridan, now—no other man but me.”

“I swear,” she whispered, her ragged breathing merging with his as she skimmed a gentle hand down his jaw, “no other man but you.” A beautiful smile slowly curved on lips now swollen with his love as she dangled in his arms, their bodies still pressed to the wall. A mischievous twinkle lit in her eyes as she leaned to seal the deal with that infamous tug of his lower lip, lodging a groan deep in his throat.

Right before he sealed deal all over again.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Are you excited about school starting next week?” Maggie smiled over her shoulder as she hung Sheridan’s dresses in the closet of Aunt Marie’s guest room while Aunt Libby laid folded items into the drawers. They’d just arrived this afternoon at Aunt Marie’s main house in Poughkeepsie, New York. Home to Vassar, Poughkeepsie was also the summer and weekend home to New York society such as the Astors, Rogers, and Vanderbilts.

Two hours from New York City, Poughkeepsie was close enough to visit Aunt Marie’s townhouse in Manhattan for weekend shopping and social events—and Aunt Libby’s beloved suffragist and volunteer activities. Yet still far enough away to maintain the idyllic beauty of the Hudson River Valley. Sheridan sighed as she carried the last of her shoes to the closet.

And the perfect place to dream of Jake!

“Oh, yes!” But lining her shoes up in the closet just so, Sheridan realized her “excitement” had little to do with Vassar. “In fact ‘excitement’ doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now.” She grinned. “More like “euphoric, I’d say.” Pausing in the closet with a dreamy smile, she closed her eyes to relive Jake’s kisses in the barn a week ago, wishing she could tell Maggie and Aunt Libby about her and Jake’s agreement. Unfortunately, he’d tied her hands but good with his unbreakable spit swear—along with her heart!

Upon their arrival, Aunt Marie had handed her a letter from Clay that had arrived along with letters from Uncle Finn for both her and Aunt Libby. But Sheridan hadn’t even opened Clay’s yet, no interest whatsoever in seeing him again. Not with memories of Jake’s kisses filling her brain and her heart!

She had no doubt that Clay’s interest had sparked Jake’s, but she had to admit that hurting Clay dimmed her joy somewhat, leaving an ache behind over what she had done. Resolute, she rose to her feet, vowing to write him tonight to break it off and apologize for any hurt she may have caused. Expelling a lovesick sigh, she put Clay out of her mind to focus on Jake while she all but floated out from the closet.

“Oh, just you wait!” Aunt Libby gushed, not only excited to see Aunt Marie again, but also her many friends from Vassar and the National Woman Suffrage Association during the week she and Maggie were staying. “Why, my college days at Vassar were some of the happiest of my life, Sheridan, and they will be for you too.”

“But not the happiest of your life, I’ll wager,” Maggie said with a wink, closing up Sheridan’s empty suitcases to store them away in the closet.

Aunt Libby grinned ear to ear, her face so aglow, she looked closer to Maggie’s and Sheridan’s ages than her own. She pulled Finn’s letter from her skirt pocket and waved it in the air. “You would be correct, Mrs. Donovan, at least since his letter arrived.” She held it to her chest with a sigh that could have been a swoon. “I’d say our argument was almost worth it because it seems the man is wonderfully besotted, apologizing up one side of the letter, and missing me down the other.”

Maggie chuckled. “Well, with two weeks of train travel and one week in New York, I suspect both of our boys will be pining for us before all is said and done.”

Sheridan sighed. And hopefully all three.

Hands on her slim hips, Aunt Libby looked around the pretty room with its pale yellow floral wallpaper and wispy-sheered windows that overlooked a lovely view of the Hudson River. She glanced at her watch. “Well, since everything is put away, I suggest we not waste any more time dawdling since Aunt Marie is serving tea in five minutes.” She marched to the door to open it, waving Maggie and Sheridan through with a bright smile. “Shall we?”

Sheridan was still walking on air when they entered Aunt Marie’s spacious parlour with its huge bay window overlooking a lush lawn and rambling gardens along the Hudson River. Part music room, part parlour, the room was a delightful setting for a tea with its watered-silk divan and cream tufted settees interspersed with French fluted tables.

Blue-and-cream striped wing chairs flanked a floor-to-ceiling fireplace paneled with cream wainscoting while the late-summer sun streamed through rich, velvet-swagged windows onto a pastel blue, cream, and pale green Oriental rug. The scent of roses and wisps of dried lavender filled the air from milk vases gracing the tables while the soft laughter of five elderly women filled the room.

“Ah, here they are now!” Aunt Marie said as she rose from the settee in a lacey blue taffeta dress that set off her silver-white chignon perfectly, boasting the same creamy skin as her sister, Maeve, Libby’s mother, both in their sixties.

Her taffeta dress rustled softly as she hurried over to hook an arm around Aunt Libby’s waist, and Sheridan could instantly see the resemblance, hinting at what Libby might look like in twenty years. “Ladies,” she said to the four other women with a note of pride, “this is my niece, Liberty O’Shea McShane, wife to the Mayor of Virginia City and co-owner of the Silver Lining Ranch, along with her nieces Maggie and Sheridan Donovan.”

Ushering them into the room, Aunt Marie promptly introduced her four lady friends, Mrs. Rhiannon Feuerstein, Mrs. Sherida Stewart, Mrs. Carrie Booth Schmidt, and Mrs. Monika Cotrill, all of whom were dressed to the hilt in the most elegant summer dresses Sheridan had ever seen.

“So, young lady,” Mrs. Rhiannon Feuerstein said once everyone had been served tea and scones, “what course of study do you hope to pursue?” Her tea cup paused at lips pinched in a faint line of disapproval, nose scrunched the slightest bit as if the pursuit of academia for women was offensive.

Sheridan stirred milk and sugar into her tea. “Education, Mrs. Feuerstein.” Laying her spoon aside, she lifted her cup with a bright smile. “You see, from the age of four, I loved to play school with my dolls”—her eyes warmed with a twinkle—“or any live specimens I could badger into it as well, from my brothers and ranch hands, to our collie, Scout, kittens, and piglets.” Several of the ladies laughed—although Mrs. Feuerstein wasn’t one—while Sheridan shrugged and lifted her cup in a toast. “So, I suppose becoming a teacher is the natural course of action.”

“And Sheridan will make one of the best,” Aunt Libby piped up, the sheen of pride in her eyes unmistakable.

“Humph.” Taking a dainty sip of her tea, Mrs. Feuerstein wrinkled her nose enough to show her disdain. “Well, you do know teachers can’t marry,” she said, the gargantuan diamond ring on her finger and ostentatious emerald brooch on her silk dress evidence that she had done so and quite well.

Sheridan blinked, a vague memory of that ridiculous rule taking the starch out of her smile.

“There are certainly exceptions to that rule, Mrs. Feuerstein,” Aunt Libby said, ever the advocate for women’s rights as she shot Sheridan a comforting smile.