was held dear by families and prospective brides.
A man marked as a “Cull” or reject by the Women’s Council could court, but he’d have a difficult time, because his beloved would want the same courtly traditions as her friends. An unhappy prospective bride could make her lover quite uncomfortable.
And so it was that most men in and around Freedom Valley abided by the Women’s Council’s Rules for Bride Courting, an 1880s manual fiercely defended by all the women in the area—mothers, daughters, sisters and aunts. Life in Freedom Valley could become quite challenging for males not abiding by the Rules for Bride Courting.
Consequently the friends of a misbehaving “Cull” were likely to be in for trouble, too, outcasts in the dating game, and the wheels of romance could come to a frustrating, cold stop.
After his wedding night fiasco, Tanner knew about frustrating, cold stops. In his haste to claim Gwyneth, Tanner had shoved aside traditions—
He rubbed his callused hands over his face, pushing away memories and the unexpected, uncomfortable emotions circling him about Gwyneth. With a sigh, Tanner went into his mother’s house and sat in the neat, cheery kitchen. A cobweb she would have never allowed taunted him with memories.
Just finished with college and with a new teaching job far away, he’d wanted Gwyneth to marry him quickly—“A girl like Gwyneth has a lot to fight,” his mother had said all those years ago, standing up on a chair to dust away an encroaching cobweb. “Her mother died when she was two and Leather hasn’t made her life easy, treating her more like a possession than a daughter—a hardworking ranch hand was how he treated her. Now you’re pushing her. Give her more time…let her come to her own decisions, in her own time.”
But twelve years ago, time had run out, and so had his bride. Tanner slammed his palm down on the table, jarring the mug and coffee that had grown cold. He picked up the framed picture of a beaming, eager groom and a blushing bride on the church’s front steps, studied it for a heartbeat, then slammed it facedown on Anna’s practical tablecloth.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” he said grimly to the empty kitchen. “I’m not in the market for another bloodletting.”
Gwyneth leaped from her van and ran up to the old weathered house with its missing shingles and battered flooring and leaky plumbing. Fumbling with her keys, she quickly clicked open the series of locks on the door, and stepped inside the hallway. She slammed the door on the sunshine that had moments ago gleamed on Tanner’s black waving hair, on that expanse of deeply tanned skin across his chest and the light matting of hair Veeing down into his low-slung jeans.
That shaggy haircut, the black strands damp upon his face and neck, did little to proclaim him a gentleman. The scowl that drew his eyebrows together was too fierce for Anna’s son and the set of his mouth said he wasn’t handing out favors. “I don’t like threats and I’ll decide when I’m leaving.”
One look at Tanner, and buried emotions had hit her like a firestorm. She hadn’t intended to stop at Anna’s, to blast Tanner, but delivering her pottery to Freedom’s Decor Shop and buying feed for the ranch had drawn Tanner-is-back comments from everyone she’d met. It was how they looked at her, that curious hopeful romantic look that brought back that night and how she’d run from him. He’d never hurt her and yet, she couldn’t bear for him to touch her—She should have known…
Sucking in air, listening to the furious pounding of her heart, she flattened her body back against the hallway’s ancient faded wallpaper.
“Hello, Gwynnie,” he’d called from Anna’s rooftop. He’d looked so powerful then, scowling down at her, his body solid from hard work, his big hands broad and rough. His mouth turned into a fierce, grim line, black eyes burning her, tearing through her body. After all those years, his anger was still there, lashing at her.
She’d adored him all her life. He’d been a high school football hero, grabbing a scholarship and soaring away to college in another state. He came home that summer, just after her high school graduation. He’d tilted his head as he looked at her and smiled slowly, as she blushed. “Hello, Gwynnie,” he’d said softly, tugging on her braids, and had asked for a date.
She was frightened then—she’d never had a date, her father wouldn’t let her, and somehow Tanner had understood. The next morning, he’d crossed the fence separating Anna’s land from the Smith ranch and walked to her father’s stalled old tractor. By late afternoon, the tractor was purring, Tanner was plowing, and old Leather was swearing, nettled by Tanner’s “I’ll take good care of Gwyneth. If you have no objections, I’d like to take her to a movie, sir.”
Old Leather, a man who craved respect, had gone down easily.
Then suddenly, they were dating and laughing and playing, and she was floating on air. Tanner’s kisses were steamy, his body taut and hot, but cherishing her, he had wanted to wait. He wanted to start a beautiful life with a perfect marriage. Two more years passed and then Tanner had graduated, ready to take a teaching job far away and he wanted her with him.
Confident in their love and future, he had pushed her to marry him, arguing fiercely with Leather that she was twenty and ready to be Tanner’s wife. Fearing the loss of his daughter and ranch hand and cook, Leather had dug in, snarling and resenting the younger man. But she hadn’t cared about his grumbling; she’d wanted to be with Tanner. She’d never been anywhere, but she was in love and so ready. She hadn’t minded that they hadn’t courted according to Freedom Valley’s century-old customs, she’d wanted Tanner too much.
Had she loved him? She’d worshiped him, adored him, waited for the sight of him. But what did she know of love at twenty? Was she only looking for freedom from a father who demanded too much?
After the wedding, she was terrified; she held tightly against her new groom at the church, his body pressing against hers. That first night, with the new marriage certificate resting beside the bed and Tanner’s ring on her finger, she couldn’t stop the clenched-tight fear. She’d trembled as Tanner had walked toward the bed, a towel around his hips….
Penny’s whining and scratching at the front door cut through the terrifying memory and Gwyneth let the German shepherd into the house. Darker and more sturdily built than his mate, Rolf pushed through the door for an ear-scratching.
Gwyneth tried to stop the twelve-year-old echo—his voice had been unsteady, frustrated—“Gwyneth, I won’t hurt you. Don’t back away from me. Look, we won’t do anything tonight, okay? You’re tired—all that wedding stuff. We’ll just sleep and everything will be better in the morning….”
But it wasn’t, because she couldn’t bear to think of him holding her, his big powerful body invading her body—
Later, when he’d come to the Smith ranch house and tried to talk with her, she couldn’t bear to face him. Tanner came from a loving family and he deserved children; she couldn’t bear for him to touch her—not that intimate way. While they were dating, Tanner had been so gentle and proper, his kisses and light caresses so sweet that she’d hoped—
But the old fear remained firmly embedded and on her wedding night, she’d run crying to her father. He was happy, crowing about how right he’d been, that she and Tanner weren’t “a mix.” She hadn’t returned Tanner’s calls, except the one message two years later that had asked for an annulment—she couldn’t have that and he’d agreed to a divorce.
“He just lives five miles down the country road to Anna’s, and the Bennett property borders mine. The rumors will be flying
