The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Sharon Ihle
making the train journey halfway across this great new country. She'd experienced a lifetime of memories in just a few short weeks. And now God willing, she would finally know the thrill of having a man in her life. Someone to call her own.
Shivering with excitement over the idea, Lacey rolled to her side on the lumpy couch and faced the fireplace. Due to Caleb's splinted leg and the fact that he didn't fit anywhere else, he stayed in his big four-poster in the nice airy bedroom he would soon share with Kate, while she made herself at home in the small office at the back of the house, sleeping on the cot generally used by Hawke on those nights when he stayed over. This left the couch in the living room to Lacey, and though it was as comfortable as any bed she'd slept in since leaving Ireland, she'd tossed and turned for half the night. And it wasn't just the stimulation of the trip keeping her awake.
This Indian who was to become her husband had at least a little to do with her insomnia. Even if he was a bit on the gruff side, something about him fascinated her, something wicked and terribly exciting. What would it be like to become the wife of a man like that, she wondered, to walk side by side with such a proud and confident individual? Lacey thought back to the way he'd stared at her—in particular, to that intense, deliberate, and demanding gaze, a look with enough arrogance to suggest that it had the power to beckon her on its own. Even the color of his eyes was menacing, the same silver-green hue of the foam-capped Atlantic breaking against the Cliffs of Moher. Dark, powerful, and dangerous.
Lacey shivered again at the thought of being so helpless under this man's gaze, then tugged the blanket up tight beneath her chin. Still thinking of Hawke, and even daring to wonder if he might try to kiss her once they were wed, she finally felt herself drift off to sleep. In what seemed like moments later, there came a loud pounding on the door. Disoriented and confused, Lacey flung herself off the couch and tumbled down to the floor.
Again came the pounding.
"J-Just a moment," she cried, still dazed and confused. Dragging herself to her feet, Lacey followed a thin beam of light cast off by the dying fire, and made her way to the door. After struggling with the thick plank which served as a latch, she finally removed it and pulled the door open. Hawke stood at the threshold between the porch and the house, his rugged features illuminated by the lantern hanging from the jamb. Beyond him, the sky was steel gray.
Hawke stared down at the sleepy woman, taking the yards and yards of rumpled cotton nightgown, the wildly disheveled mop of coppery red curls, and the dull look in her normally bright blue eyes. His breath lodged in his throat. While he'd hoped to catch the Irish miss fast asleep, he hadn't figured on her looking so warm and cuddly, or so innocently provocative. Something warm trickled through his chest, then flared and spread below.
Shaking off the sudden, crazy effect her appearance had on him, Hawke cleared his throat and bellowed the obvious. "You're not dressed."
Lacey glanced down at herself, finally awake enough to realize she was standing before a man in a most immodest state. She quickly wrapped her arms across her bosom and crossed her legs at the ankle. "Of course not, Sir. 'Tisn't even morning yet. What are you wanting at such an ungodly hour?"
"You," he said, pleased to see her eyes grow clear and alert, enough so he noticed they were not simply blue, but sparkling with minute specks of gold. Not so pleased by the effect this discovery had on him, Hawke brushed past her, stepped into the room, and headed for the fireplace. "I said I'd be here first thing in the morning," he muttered angrily. "This is the first thing in the morning in these parts. I'll give you till my hands are warm to get dressed, then I've got to be heading back to the ranch—with or without you."
Her mouth and eyes a trio of
Shivering with excitement over the idea, Lacey rolled to her side on the lumpy couch and faced the fireplace. Due to Caleb's splinted leg and the fact that he didn't fit anywhere else, he stayed in his big four-poster in the nice airy bedroom he would soon share with Kate, while she made herself at home in the small office at the back of the house, sleeping on the cot generally used by Hawke on those nights when he stayed over. This left the couch in the living room to Lacey, and though it was as comfortable as any bed she'd slept in since leaving Ireland, she'd tossed and turned for half the night. And it wasn't just the stimulation of the trip keeping her awake.
This Indian who was to become her husband had at least a little to do with her insomnia. Even if he was a bit on the gruff side, something about him fascinated her, something wicked and terribly exciting. What would it be like to become the wife of a man like that, she wondered, to walk side by side with such a proud and confident individual? Lacey thought back to the way he'd stared at her—in particular, to that intense, deliberate, and demanding gaze, a look with enough arrogance to suggest that it had the power to beckon her on its own. Even the color of his eyes was menacing, the same silver-green hue of the foam-capped Atlantic breaking against the Cliffs of Moher. Dark, powerful, and dangerous.
Lacey shivered again at the thought of being so helpless under this man's gaze, then tugged the blanket up tight beneath her chin. Still thinking of Hawke, and even daring to wonder if he might try to kiss her once they were wed, she finally felt herself drift off to sleep. In what seemed like moments later, there came a loud pounding on the door. Disoriented and confused, Lacey flung herself off the couch and tumbled down to the floor.
Again came the pounding.
"J-Just a moment," she cried, still dazed and confused. Dragging herself to her feet, Lacey followed a thin beam of light cast off by the dying fire, and made her way to the door. After struggling with the thick plank which served as a latch, she finally removed it and pulled the door open. Hawke stood at the threshold between the porch and the house, his rugged features illuminated by the lantern hanging from the jamb. Beyond him, the sky was steel gray.
Hawke stared down at the sleepy woman, taking the yards and yards of rumpled cotton nightgown, the wildly disheveled mop of coppery red curls, and the dull look in her normally bright blue eyes. His breath lodged in his throat. While he'd hoped to catch the Irish miss fast asleep, he hadn't figured on her looking so warm and cuddly, or so innocently provocative. Something warm trickled through his chest, then flared and spread below.
Shaking off the sudden, crazy effect her appearance had on him, Hawke cleared his throat and bellowed the obvious. "You're not dressed."
Lacey glanced down at herself, finally awake enough to realize she was standing before a man in a most immodest state. She quickly wrapped her arms across her bosom and crossed her legs at the ankle. "Of course not, Sir. 'Tisn't even morning yet. What are you wanting at such an ungodly hour?"
"You," he said, pleased to see her eyes grow clear and alert, enough so he noticed they were not simply blue, but sparkling with minute specks of gold. Not so pleased by the effect this discovery had on him, Hawke brushed past her, stepped into the room, and headed for the fireplace. "I said I'd be here first thing in the morning," he muttered angrily. "This is the first thing in the morning in these parts. I'll give you till my hands are warm to get dressed, then I've got to be heading back to the ranch—with or without you."
Her mouth and eyes a trio of
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