Marry Me Read Free Page B

shack, a soothing sigh like a mother whispering to a child.
    Just a moment, she promised herself. She’d just a rest a moment, and then she’d commence to settling in to stay.

     
    Emily awoke to dense blackness, her heart pounding, every sense on full alert, but unable to identify exactly why. It was as if she’d been jolted awake by a terrible nightmare, but she couldn’t recall a single detail. Perhaps there’d been something outside, a noise that would soon become familiar and friendly but was now shocking to ears more accustomed to the burble of voices and rattle of carriages. The lamp must have burned out on its own.
    But then the door burst open. The doorway was lightened by moonlight, thoroughly filled by a large, and very well-defined, human form.

Chapter 2

    S o this was terror, Emily thought numbly. How odd…though aware of her fright, she felt it dimly, from a distance, observing more than truly experiencing the tingling of her fingers, the tight knot in her belly.
    How strange she’d never felt it before. She’d been sad, of course, and lonely; grieving or worried upon occasion. Not often, and rarely for long, but those emotions had been true and deep just the same. She’d never been truly terrified, however, for she’d always believed everything would work out just fine. And it always had.
    She lay flat on the bed, absolutely still, and wondered how long she could survive without breathing. Long enough, she prayed, so that the intruder would never even realize her presence.
    He moved silently into the room. There was more light behind him, thin and pearly, spilling a rectangle of moonlight on the floor. His steps were unerring, as if he could see better than she in the dimness. She kept expecting him to bump into something, the table, a trunk, but he didn’t falter until he loomed over her in the bed.
    “You’re not sleeping,” he told her.
    As if a dangerous brigand cared whether he disturbed her sleep or not. Her thoughts churned, scrambling to remember which corner held the collection of tools, pondering whether the rake or the hoe might prove a more effective weapon.
    “I—” She tried to speak, managed only a squeak.
    “Aw, crap, don’t tell me you’re scared.” He was as shaggy as a great bear—wild fall of hair, thick beard, immense shoulders—with a deep grumble of a voice. “You think I would’ve knocked on the door if I meant to strangle you in your sleep?”
    Despite his looking ever so much like the sort who would do just that, he made undeniable sense. “What difference does it make if I’m asleep? Or scared, for that matter?” The first sharp bite of terror receded. Surely if this man threatened immediate danger he wouldn’t simply be standing beside the bed glowering at her.
    And so she took her customary approach to dealing with a difficult person.
    She talked.
    “Which I am, by the way. Frightened, I mean. And I was sleeping.” She wondered if it would be too obvious if she yanked the covers higher around her neck. “You still haven’t explained why you care if I am.”
    “Frightened? Because women tend to be even more unpredictable and unreasonable than usual when they’re frightened, that’s why. And sleeping? Because you’re probably not going anywhere until you wake up.”
    “Going anywhere?” she repeated. Dulled by heavy sleep, her stomach still jittering with unease, she sat up—making sure the quilts were wedged firmly in her armpits—and pushed her hair out of her eyes.
    “Yeah.” He whacked his hand against the bed-frame so hard it nearly sent her tumbling. “Get moving.”
    “And where, exactly, am I moving to ?” A nice burn of anger shoved aside the rest of her fear. If he thought she’d be traipsing off anywhere with him, well, she’d just recalled exactly where she’d left that hoe, and figured it would look mighty fine wrapped around his skull.
    “How the hell should I know where you’re going?” If only he wasn’t so large.