Gerrity'S Bride Read Free

colors, and not too many layers.”
    “I’m in mourning,” she announced primly, even as her honest heart prodded her. It was difficult to mourn a father she had little memory of, but she had dutifully donned the required black garb and yards of veiling on her hat. That the veiling had gone by the way after she discovered how hot it was behind the layers of gauze was not to be admitted, she thought warily. Now she’d allowed this...man, this ranch hand, to handle her clothing, and...
    The memory of his work-roughened fingers against her skin was the final straw. He was bossy, she decided, not to mention arrogant, and she was still too hot. Her eyes blinked and narrowed against the unrelenting sunshine. Not only that, she was too tired, and sick of being jolted about on this sad excuse for a wagon, she thought as she fought the weary tears that burned behind her eyelids.
    His voice saved her from the disgrace of tears. “We’ve arrived,” he announced as they passed beneath a sign proclaiming that they were on Carruthers land. But it was not to be a quick arrival, she noticed, watching the group of buildings in the distance. Indeed, it was another twenty minutes before the wagon halted.
    As if it had sprouted from the desert, the house sprawled in several directions, its sand-colored walls dotted with windows and doors. A wide roof provided overhanging shelter, forming a shaded spot on the eastern side of the building. Appearing from the shadowed doorway, a woman stepped forward. Wiping her hands on the front of the white apron she wore, she smiled her welcome. Behind her, the open door revealed a dim interior, and Emmaline yearned suddenly to step within that shady area, out of the sun that beat upon her with unrelenting brilliance.
    She shifted upon the seat, and, as if spurred by her movement, the man sitting next to her leaped to the ground and then turned, hands reaching to lift her from the seat. She moved nearer and then, fingers clutching his shoulders, felt him take her weight as he circled her waist with hands that held her firmly. He swept her to the ground, providing support while she gingerly tested her weight on limbs that were unaccountably shaky.
    “Got the ground under you, ma’am?” he asked, his eyes mocking as he watched her closely. She was a slim little mite, he decided, flexing his fingers against the boning of the undergarment she wore. ‘Course, once she took off the corsets, or whatever it was they called those idiotic things women wore, she might spread out a little.
    She stirred against his hands and he released her, his eyes hooded as he watched the sway of her skirt, the graceful steps of her slender booted feet and the tilt of her head under the bonnet she wore.
    “Thank you, Mr....” She groped for a name as she stepped away from him.
    “Just Matt,” he said bluntly. “We don’t deal in formalities around here, sis.”
    She stiffened. “All right. Thank you, Matt,” she said, declining the argument he’d resurrected with his reference to their relationship.
    “Come in, come in,” the woman on the doorstep said, stepping back to allow Emmaline room.
    “Maria, this is Miss Emmaline,” Matt said. “Maria is our housekeeper, Emmaline.”
    The woman nodded quickly. “I’ve been watching for you. You must be hot and tired. Hungry, too, unless this man fed you in town. From the looks of things, you need something cool to drink and a place to sit and rest a bit.” Maria bustled ahead, Emmaline trailing behind as she looked about the large room, drawn by the simple beauty of its furnishings.
    Blinking against the dimness, she basked in the cooler temperature within the house. On the outside wall, the windows were covered with white curtains, sheer and filmy with deep ruffles that were held back at the sides. Large pieces of leather furniture sat about the room, deep chairs with reading lamps close at hand, and a pair of sofas that faced each other before an enormous fireplace