Authors: Johanna Lindsey

One Heart to Win (42 page)

Rose went one better and hugged the eldest Callahan, which actually made him blush. “Good, good,” he mumbled. “Now maybe Mary will talk to me again.”

Tiffany’s brothers left with the Callahans to head back to town. It was still Saturday night, after all. Her parents hugged Tiffany for a long moment, now that they had her alone. They didn’t say anything, just showed her how much they loved her.

Then Rose said with a yawn that Tiffany was sure was fake, “What a long day. I’m ready for some sleep.”

“Sleep?” Frank chuckled as he followed his wife upstairs.

Tiffany watched them for a moment with a smile, then started up the stairs herself, but stopped when she remembered Hunter’s silly remark about sleeping on the porch tonight. Just to be sure he’d been joking, she stepped outside.

And there he was. He’d already removed Patches’ saddle so he would be comfortable for the night. It was on the floor next to the uncomfortable wooden chair Hunter was sitting in.

He smiled up at her. “What took you so long?”

She leaned back against the wall near him, even raised one knee the way he always did. “Because I didn’t think you were really serious.”

“Course you did, or you wouldn’t be out here.”

She didn’t deny it. “Should I get you a blanket?”

He gave that a little thought before saying, “Today was one of the hottest days of the summer. Don’t expect it to get too chilly tonight—or you could sleep here with me so we won’t notice if it does.”

“In the chair with you?”

“Why not? Well, you can sleep. I don’t expect to get any.”

“You really think there will be any more trouble? The worst offenders are in jail, and the sheriff said he’d arrange for the railroad to ship the rest out, east or west, in the next few days.”

“I meant with you on my lap, I won’t be getting any sleep.”

“Oh.”

The porch lamp wasn’t lit, but ample light came from the parlor windows. However, for once, Tiffany didn’t care that she was blushing a little.

She did look down, though, before she said, “Why didn’t you ask me to dance tonight?”

“Because I was having too much fun watching you get the hang of it. Because I wanted you to have a good taste of one of our shindigs and see that we can have as much fun out here in the West as you do back East. Because I knew once I did have my arms around you, I wouldn’t be letting go—and I can’t wait any longer for that.”

He leaned over to reach her and drew her onto his lap. With one arm about her waist to support her back, he tilted her chin so she’d look at him. She almost gasped, so much heated emotion was in the powder-blue eyes looking back at her.

“I want to marry you, Tiffany. I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want you to be my wife.”

“That’s twice now you’ve called me Tiffany.”

“Is it? Guess I’m getting used to it. But you know it doesn’t matter what you want to call yourself, you’re still the woman I fell in love with. I knew it the night I saw you with Caleb’s new son, saw how sweet and tender you really are. There was nothing fake about that. It wasn’t some role you were playing. That was you, plain and simple. Didn’t take more’n a day for me to
figure that out, that it was
all
you. Your daring to come to the enemy camp on your own, that took a great deal of courage. So did trying to put out a fire instead of running away from it. Wanting to rope a cow and laughing at yourself for how long it took. Befriending a pig of all things. Admit it. None of that was a lie. The only thing you lied about was your name.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Maybe? That’s all you have to say? You’ve been trying to convince me I don’t really know you. I just proved I do. And I just asked you to be my wife! Not because we’re already betrothed. And certainly not because your last name is Warren. I love you!”

“I love you, too, but—”

That’s all he needed to hear to silence her with a kiss. Tiffany didn’t want to wait any longer to taste him, either. To hell with her reservations. To hell with what he’d told her that day they went riding, told
Jennifer
, about why he didn’t want to marry the Warrens’ only daughter. And she’d thought too long that she couldn’t have him. Now with that glimmer of hope that she could, it was like a dam opening, releasing all her emotions at once.

His kiss was exquisitely passionate. Her hand gripped his neck, but the position wasn’t to her advantage, she couldn’t feel enough of him. The one nice thing about that uncomfortable wooden chair was that it had no arms to keep her from straddling his lap. She moved rather quickly when she realized that. He was a bit surprised, but she was now facing him, her breasts pressed hard to his chest, her hands now holding his head, which was more even with hers. And she could feel him, between her legs, that hard bulge. She could even rub against him and she did. He was driving her crazy—no, she was driving
herself crazy, because she could almost feel that dizzying excitement and overwhelming pleasure that she’d felt that night in the barn. It was there, wanting to spiral out of control, but just out of reach. So much passion, so much need, and she couldn’t quite get to it.

She had no idea how he did it without actually moving her or breaking that kiss, pulling on a string, pushing down loosened drawers, but he was suddenly inside her, really inside her. His hands moved to her hips to guide her, but she didn’t need help. She knew exactly what to do. It all converged at once, everything he evoked—passion, hope, love—bursting the spiral, wrapping her in bliss.

They sat there unmoving, breathing still heavy. Her hair had come loose, lay over his arms as he held her against him. She didn’t want to stir yet, didn’t want to give up a single inch of him. It was a remarkably comfortable position for such an uncomfortable chair.

Until she realized, “Oh, my God, on the porch?”

His laughter shook her body, still pressed to his. “Barns, porches, does it matter?”

She turned her head and lay it on his shoulder and kissed his neck tenderly. “No.”

“I heard that
but
earlier,” he said carefully. “That wasn’t a ‘yes, I’ll marry you,’ was it?”

She sighed. “I can’t deny I have one last reservation, but it’s a big one.”

“Tell me.”

“It was the day you told me why you didn’t want to marry a Warren, that what you felt for them would always be there, deep down, under the surface. And it would get in the way, whether you liked her—me—or not.”

He smiled wryly. “You would have to remember that. It’s not that I didn’t think it. I did, every time I was looking for excuses not to have to marry a woman I didn’t love. Other times, I’d look at it from a more positive side, that, who knows, maybe I’d end up adoring her. So I actually did some shopping for her—well, ordering. Some odd catalogs come through here from time to time. I bought her some things I thought an Easterner might like. Don’t laugh, but I’ve got crates of fine English china stacked in my room, vases, pretty little knickknacks, fancy painted porcelain teacups, when I had no idea if she even drank tea. I went overboard, on my optimistic days. Then I’d think of chucking it all in the fire, on my not-so-optimistic days. You drove me crazy before I even met you.”

She grinned. “It’s ironic that a few of those crates arrived here the same day I did.”

He moved her back so he could hold her face in his hands. “Why don’t you ask me why I shared those fears with you?”

“Why?”

“Because I was already thinking of
you
in a permanent way, and I didn’t want you to think you were breaking up something that was fated to be. The real irony is that it
was
fated to be, we just didn’t know it yet. Well, I didn’t. You, on the other hand, cheated. You got to meet me long before I met you.”

“Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“I won’t say another word—tonight.” She laughed, but he added, “The suspense is killing me, Red. Are we getting hitched tomorrow or not?”

She kissed one cheek. “My mother did have a wedding dress made for me.” She kissed his other cheek. “I just refused to pack it, since I had no intention of marrying you.” She kissed his lips. “It will take at least a week to get it here.”

He kissed her long and hard before he said, “Next Sunday then?”

“Next Sunday sounds wonderful.”

“You’ll have to move a bed to the porch for me.” She rolled her eyes, but he added, “I’m not kidding. But next Sunday is a nice date. We might even get our house built by then.”

“Now that’s absurd. There’s no way—”

“You’d be surprised, actually, I guess you will be. We’ve got carpenters, even masons, and one heck of a lot of people who will want to pitch in to see it happen. A barn can be built in a day. A fancy house will take a few days more. And you can design it however you want—if you want one here.”

He was suddenly looking a little worried, for having jumped the gun. She assured him by saying, “I thought we might take a trip to New York after the house is finished. We can pick out furniture together. And I can show you where I grew up, introduce you to my friends—”

“And talk me into staying? I will, you know, if that’s what you want. I don’t care where we live, as long as we’re together.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

She wasn’t really surprised that he’d say that. It was part of his charm, just one of the many reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

“Lucky for you, I’m partial to Montana sunsets,” she teased. “Among other things. And I think we can find an empty bed for you in the house.”

Drawn by his looks, roped in by his charm, her heart had been won by this man. It made her smile quite brilliantly to realize that her grandchildren were going to be cowboys after all.

JOHANNA LINDSEY
celebrates the publication of her fiftieth novel with
One Heart to Win
. World renowned for her “mastery of historical romance” (
Entertainment Weekly
), she has sold more than sixty million copies of her novels; all of her previous novels are national bestsellers, and many have reached the #1 spot on the
New York Times
bestseller list. Lindsey lives in New Hampshire with her family.