The Courting of Widow Shaw Read Free Page A

through him, but he fought them off. The woman needed help, not his schoolboy gawking.
    He knew, judging from the swollen purple marks on her face, that most of Glory’s injuries had occurred facing her attacker. She’d taken the brunt of his abuse head-on. So Steven lifted himself off that side of the bed to come around to Glory’s front. He sat down and gazed at her, noting her skin discolored in many places, the god-awful marks of aggression all over her lovely body.
    He took up a cloth, dipped it into the bowl and pressed it to her face first, bathing her with coolness.
    She let out a small sigh. Not a cry this time, but a whimper of slight pleasure. Steven let out a breath,relieved he hadn’t caused her more pain. “Glory, can you hear me?”
    She sighed quietly again but her swollen eyes remained closed.
    Steven kept the cloth on her face, gently dabbing at her bruises for long minutes. Then he moved the cloth down to cover a bruise on her left shoulder. He dipped and redipped the cloth several times, cleansing and cooling the area all the while his muscles tensed at the unjust brutality the woman had suffered.
    He couldn’t fault her if she had killed her husband.
    They’d get to the truth eventually, but for now, she needed to heal.
    Steven dipped the cloth once more and noted three dark and slightly elevated bruises on her chest. He bathed those as well, allowing the water to seep down under her chemise, keeping her modesty intact, somewhat. But his plan went awry, since the chemise, when wet, lent a view that Steven couldn’t tear his gaze away from. Small, round ripe breasts exposed by wet cotton held his complete attention, nearly knocking the stuffing out of him.
    “Lord help me,” he mumbled as he held his breath and continued to bathe her. His groin went tight. His mind rebelled. Rosy peaks pressed against the flimsy fabric outlined Glory’s beautiful form, and try as he might, Steven hadn’t the willpower to shift his attention. He sat there, mesmerized. How on earth was he to rub her skin with salve? Wasn’t that too much to ask of an honorable man?
    Steven covered her, then bounded up from the bed. Moving to the window, he glanced out, seeing nothing but the image of Glory, lying in his bed, nearly naked and needing his attention.
    “God almighty,” he cursed, willing his body back to normalcy. Steven wasn’t a man to lose control. He wasn’t a man who feared the very sight of a woman.
    She made a sound. Not a moan or a cry, but words. She’d mumbled words. Steven whirled around abruptly, her low raspy voice startling him. “Glory?”
    Had she spoken? Was that voice hers, or had he imagined those words only in his addled brain?
    He moved to her side. “Glory?”
    The woman struggled to open her eyes, but didn’t quite achieve her goal. Instead, another whispered sound came forth. “Where…am…I?”

Chapter Two
    T hrough a haze of pain, Gloria heard a man’s voice. She wrestled with the sound, her mind too clouded to recognize who was calling to her. But whomever it was kept calling her Glory.
    Glory.
    No one ever called her Glory—except her beloved father and then only within the confines of their home. To the outside world ever-prudent Reverend Jonathan Caldwell had used her birth name of Gloria Mae.
    Perhaps it was her father calling? Perhaps He was ready to take her and the good Lord saw fit to send her father as messenger.
    “Glory.”
    The voice called to her again, but it wasn’t her father. This time she was certain. How often had she dreamed of hearing his tone and tenor just once more? But his life had been taken abruptly and far too soon. Sadly she realized she’d never hear her father’s voice again.
    Gloria battled to open her eyes, but it was as though clay bricks weighed them down. The effort cost her too much energy so she gave up for now. Ithurt to breathe. Everything ached. And she remembered nothing of what had happened to her. But she felt safe, for some odd