beef stew perhaps she should blame it on the plight of a pregnant woman instead of motion sickness.
“How long before we get there?” she asked.
They had been traveling at least an hour. After the first few miles, they’d left behind the sandy plateau and were now weaving between rolling hills covered with desert scrub. It seemed impossible fertile farmland could be located anywhere nearby.
Her husband turned to her, his gray eyes flickering over her with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Just a little tired.” Charlotte tugged at the stifling fabric of her wool skirt. “And hot.”
“You ought to have changed into something cooler.”
She gestured at her leather bag that rocked up and down in the cart behind them. “Do you think I carry an entire wardrobe in there? All I have is another blouse, the undergarments you’ve already seen and the petticoats you complained about.”
His brow furrowed. “You should have told me. We could have stopped at the mercantile to get you a plain cotton dress.”
A plain cotton dress. Charlotte pursed her lips. She’d never owned such a garment in her life. Seeking to blend in with the crowd when she escaped from Merlin’s Leap, she’d worn her oldest clothing, but she hadn’t expected to end up in a hot climate.
“Dresses cost money,” she commented.
Thomas stiffened by her side. “I can provide what you need, and what the baby needs, even if it means selling my land and working for others.”
“Don’t say that!” Charlotte sat bolt upright on the bench, twisting around to stare at him. A gust of wind caught the brim of her bonnet, and she raised both hands to hold it secure.
Their eyes locked, and the naked longing in his gaze slammed into her heart like a blow. In that single look, all his dreams, all his hopes poured over her.
Every thought scattered from Charlotte’s mind as the strength of her new husband’s emotions flooded out to her. Without thinking, she released her grip on the bonnet and reached out to brush one fingertip along the curve of his cheekbone.
A strangled sound tore from Thomas Greenwood’s throat. His hand came up to capture her wrist and he pressed his cheek into her palm. His eyes closed, as if he wanted all his senses to focus on that simple touch.
Charlotte couldn’t breathe. An alien tension tugged deep in her belly.
She’d hated it when Cousin Gareth touched her, but this was different. She fought the temptation to slide her fingers into the golden hair of Thomas Greenwood, so she could hear him make that sound of longing again.
The cart sank into a rut and bounced into sudden lurch that jolted them on the bench. Greenwood released his fingers from her wrist and turned to study the trail ahead, controlling the reins with both hands.
Charlotte gripped the edge of the wooden platform and clung on tight. As she slowly regained her mental balance, her imagination rushed ahead.
She saw the coming year unfold. They would forge a companionship, a life together, with shared domestic routines and moments of leisure. And, even though she had to find a way to keep Thomas from consummating the marriage, some level of intimacy might develop between them. And then, when it became safe for her to return to Merlin’s Leap, it would all come to an end.
A premonition added to her guilty conscience.
She would end up breaking Thomas Greenwood’s heart.
* * *
The journey over the rolling scrubland lulled Charlotte into a fatigue that bordered upon sleep. After those few tense moments of staring at each other, with the hot desert air between them sizzling with unspoken emotion, they had retreated behind neutral manners, conversing in awkward snatches.
Thomas Greenwood was what she’d heard the people on the train call a sodbuster. He grew wheat and corn and vegetables. Because of his isolated location, he didn’t get caught in the feuds that raged between cattlemen, who demanded open range, and farmers, who sought to fence their fields to protect their crops.
“It’s after the next turn,” he told her, pride evident in his tone.
Charlotte sat bolt upright on the hard bench and surveyed the hillside ahead. The trail snaked in twists and turns between clumps of cacti. Greenwood took a sharp turn left and urged the horse into a canter to clear the steep rise of the hill.
As they crested the ridge, a small fertile valley spread before them. Speechless, Charlotte stared at the creek that cut a sparkling ribbon through the middle. Beyond the tall trees that shimmered with silvery leaves, she caught sight of the blue glints of a lake.
“Water?” She turned to Thomas. “You live by a lake?”
“A reservoir.” A satisfied smile curved his lips. “The beavers built the dam. I merely improved their design.”
“Beavers?”
His smile broadened into a grin. “That’s right. But don’t get any ideas about a fur coat. They are my friends and neighbors.” He jumped down from the bench, circled the cart to her side and reached up with both arms.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Greenwood.”
Charlotte braced her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her down. Thomas set her on her feet, but instead of stepping away, he bent toward her. Pausing to snatch off his hat, he lowered his head and brushed a kiss on her lips.
It was over in a heartbeat, but the tingling sensation clung to Charlotte’s lips, even after Thomas had drawn back to his full height.
She’d never been kissed by a man before, and it seemed to her there should be more to it. She stole a glance at Thomas. He was scowling, as if something had annoyed him.
“I’ll show you the house,” he told her in a voice that sounded rough and impatient. With an abrupt turn on one worn boot heel, he strode away, across the small clearing and along the path between trees with their silvery leaves.
Charlotte hurried after him, her heart pounding. Why had he suddenly grown so terse? Had he felt the flatness of her belly when he lifted her down? Was he suspecting something?
Panic unfurled in her chest when she considered the hurdles she would have to navigate as part of her deception. She could do nothing but go on living as she had lived in the past ten days, since she fled out into the cold spring afternoon at Merlin’s Leap—by her wits, one minute at a time.
* * *
Thomas strode down the path to the front door, his boots thudding in an angry beat against the hard-baked earth. He needed to get ahold of himself. After just one tiny kiss, lust flamed like a brushfire through him, and it was scaring him witless.
He must let his bride get used to him first, to his strength and size, to his constant presence. The best strategy was to win her over gradually. Allowing greedy passions to rule his mind could ruin any hope of a happy marriage.
Thomas believed in creation. God had given men the capacity to enjoy the intimacy necessary for the survival of
