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"Is it safe?" It took all his control now, not to finish, but he wanted permission, and they both knew what he wanted permission for.
Her voice was strained when she answered. "Does it matter?"
He took that for the answer he wanted to hear and thrust in again, once, twice, and then held her on tight as he started to cum. He could feel her, grinding up against him, trying to pull every last drop out of him, and he wanted her to. Every last drop.
Glen pulled out, both of them breathing hard, and turned her around. Slowly, but firmly. "Come here."
He pulled her in tight, pressing his lips against hers. Her body felt hot against him. He could feel something stirring inside him, urges he wouldn't deny for long.
"Catherine?"
"Yeah?"
"I got a question for you."
She was breathless, leaning in against his chest, her naked breasts pressed in against the rough fabric of his shirt, tightening them into hardness. They both knew that she shouldn't have done this, not really. Not the way she had. Neither cared. It wasn't as if she was going to be seen by anyone. Who would come by the ranch to see?
"Sure," she answered, taking a moment. Trying to catch her breath.
"Catherine, will you marry me?"
She leaned into him and didn't answer for a minute, and for a terrifying moment Glen thought he could guess the answer.
Thirty One
Catherine let herself breathe for the first time in hours. She had to answer him some time. At this rate he was going to get the wrong idea.
Not answering, she'd make Glen think that she was refusing. In reality, nothing could possibly be further from the truth. It was all she wanted to say yes to him. To spend the rest of her life with the man.
Could she accept that, though? Could she accept ruining him just for her own happiness? What kind of woman would that make her, that she was willing to put the reputation she'd spent so long regretting, dreading, and hating on a good man like him? He didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve to have to deal with her.
She should have refused on the spot. Should have told him that she didn't want him. She had to lie. It was the right thing to do, for his sake.
So why hadn't she? She already knew what the right thing to do was, and she had already made her decision. Now he was sitting in the barn, waiting for her answer, and the fool was hoping that she would say yes. As if he would be getting something out of it.
She let out a long breath. She had to refuse. It was the right thing to do. Why did it have to be so hard?
Glen looked out on the cattle, grazing quietly. He should have felt something about them. Should have, being the operative word. Instead, he found himself occupied with the threat of Rod Dawson's gang coming out to get him when their door-man didn't come in tomorrow.
He found himself planning in his head how he was going to deal with it when they tried to raid the place. He found himself thinking about what he was going to do about the Sheriff who hadn't bothered to do anything about him for years.
How was it that he could justify shooting a man down for working at the wrong brewery, but a Sheriff was free and clear? Just because of a star on his chest?
Glen stopped the thought before he could take it any further. There was justice and then there was murder. He couldn't let the two get fuzzy in his head. Not when he knew that he was dancing dangerously close to the line already.
He turned again.
He could see Catherine, just the edge of her dress, through the window over the washbasin. She was scrubbing again, which he'd learned meant that she was worrying over something.
He'd been too abrupt with his proposal. He should have done it better. Should have made it sweet, romantic. He shoulda made everything perfect. But he wasn't perfect, and there was no changing that, no matter how much he wanted to.
No reason to fool himself. He was the furthest thing from perfect. Most folks didn't have the history her had. She had some things she had to come to terms with. Things he had to come to terms with, too, but it was surprising how little betrayal he'd felt over it. The history didn't matter, the future did.
She didn't seem to see it that way. He watched her scrub the pot well past clean through the window. She'd give him his answer sooner or later. And until he had time to make sure that Rod Dawson wasn't going to make a play on the ranch while Glen was out and dealing with his little roadhouse, there was going to be plenty of time to wait.
He laid his head back against the heavy support beam and settled in. Either she'd come out, or she'd have some very well-scrubbed pans. He had time, either way.
Catherine could feel the tears welling up. She didn't have time for it. She forced herself not to feel them any more. If she ignored them well enough, it was as if they weren't there. She reminded herself of that again.
