The Outlaw's Bride. Catherine Palmer

what to do next.

      “Kiss me one more time,” she murmured, her eyelids drifting shut. “Just once, and never again.”

      Chapter Five

      Moonlight wafted through the iron fretwork on the window to drape a lacy shadow over the room. Unaware, she drifted toward him as his lips brushed hers. She slid her arms around his chest. Reveling in the rich scent of leather and soft flannel, in the rough graze of his chin against her skin, she ran her fingers down his back, which was solid, as hard as steel.

      The sense that he was someone she must keep at a distance evaporated in yet another crush of heated lips.

      “Isobel,” Noah murmured. His blue eyes had gone inky in the flicker of the candles. “I promised not to touch you. I made a vow.”

      Even as he spoke, she read his plea to be released from that oath. How should she respond to the unbearable tumult he had provoked inside her? She must think of who he was—a mere acquaintance, an American, a common cattleman.

      But why did his words sound like poetry in her ears and his kisses feel like music? Perhaps it was the moonlight or the crackling fire. Maybe it was the turmoil that spun through her heart. Or simply the magic of a man’s touch.

      “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” she whispered.

      “The same thing you’ve done to me. But it’s not right. For either of us.”

      She wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. For endless minutes, they gazed at each other. Then with a deep sigh, Noah shook his head, grabbed his saddlebag and bedroll and left the room.

      “Isobel.” A cool hand rested on her arm. “Isobel, wake up. The morning is half gone!”

      Her eyes flicked open. But instead of the man with blue eyes who had walked through her dreams, she looked into the face of her sweet friend. “Susan? Where is…what time is it?”

      “After eight. Noah sent me to look in on you.”

      Isobel struggled to one elbow. “Where is he?”

      “At Alexander McSween’s house. He and Dick have been talking since dawn.”

      “About what?”

      “I don’t know. I was in the kitchen helping Mrs. McSween. Here’s your breakfast.” Susan set a basket of warm tortillas on a small table and glanced to the end of the bed. “Isobel, what happened last night? You look…rumpled.”

      Isobel touched her tender lips, remembering. “I’m all right, Susan.”

      “Did you and Noah…? Did he try to…?”

      “No, it’s nothing.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “He wants me to go to Santa Fe. To Don Guillermo. Noah is…a problem. A problem for me. I’m sorry I agreed to the arrangement.”

      She tried to make the words ring true, but they sounded hollow and empty.

      “Isobel,” Susan spoke up, “if that cowboy is bothering you, we’ll find a way to get you to Santa Fe. I know your don will protect you.”

      She herself knew nothing of the sort, Isobel admitted as she rolled a tortilla and took a bite. The more she thought about the man who had never written to her, never even sent a token of commitment to her mother, the less she trusted Guillermo Pascal.

      And Noah Buchanan wanted neither a wife nor children to clutter his life. Besides, the vaquero was too common. Any connection between them was impossible.

      Isobel forced a laugh as she stepped to the washstand. “Noah thinks he’s a king,” she told Susan. “He makes me wash dishes. He sends telegrams without my permission. He gives orders left and right.”

      Susan giggled. “He gives you orders?”

      “Noah fancies himself my equal. But he has nothing.”

      “Nothing except a good job and a quick draw. Out West that can make a man a king. Look at Dick Brewer. He works for the Tunstall operation, but he bought land and a house, and he manages his own cattle.”

      “You were interested in Dick Brewer last night.”

      Susan’s pale cheeks flushed. “I went outside for fresh air, and Dick came out, too. We talked.”

      “Talked?”

      “Oh, Isobel, he’s wonderful!” Susan hugged herself. “He’s handsome and kind and strong. I’ve never met anyone so perfect. I love him, Isobel.”

      “Love, Susan? So soon? In Spain we say, Lo que el agua trae, el agua lleva. It means what comes easily can also go easily. Your parents should secure a well-to-do husband—one who can give you a fine home. I stayed in Dick Brewer’s cabin. It’s too small for a family. His land is nothing but rocks. Keep your thoughts from love and you’ll be happier.”

      Susan shrugged. “My Mexican friends in Texas used to say, Más vale atole con risas que chocolate con lagrimas.”

      “Better to have gruel with laughter than chocolate with tears,” Isobel translated the familiar adage. Susan was teasing her now, and she didn’t like it. It was bad enough that she’d hardly had any sleep, and that all night her mind had been possessed with thoughts of Noah Buchanan, but now she could hardly focus on her plans.

      “I’d rather marry a cowboy like Dick Brewer,” Susan said as she helped her friend dress. “I’d rather live in Dick’s old cabin and bear him seven little roly-poly Brewers than go up to Santa Fe and marry someone like your rich Don Guillermo. You don’t even know him. He would protect you as his wife, but he might not care a fig about you. He can give you a big house and jewels, but can he give you his heart?”

      “What do you know about a good marriage, Susan?” Isobel challenged her. “The great families of Spain have made such unions for centuries. No one sits about moaning for love. We marry well because it is our tradition. I am obligated to marry Don Guillermo.”

      Susan embraced her friend. “Don’t be angry, Isobel. We come from different worlds. To me, Dick Brewer seems like he stepped out of a dream.”

      “Dreams vanish, pffft!” Isobel clicked her fingers. “Like that!”

      Susan walked to the window. “I always wanted to fall in love. I know it happened fast, but I do love Dick.”

      Fumbling with the unruly buttons of her wrinkled bodice, Isobel realized Susan looked different today. Filled with uneasiness at her memories of Noah’s kisses, she hoped she didn’t appear smitten, too.

      “Let’s go down to the mercantile,” Susan chirped. “We need to sew you a gown that fits. You want to look pretty for Noah Buchanan, don’t you?”

      “Such nonsense you speak!” Isobel chided her friend.

      Aware she was blushing, she snatched her white cotton shawl and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders as she and Susan set off. The day was sunny, and the frozen road had begun to thaw. Scraggly dogs and snuffling pigs wandered through the mud. Wisps of piñon smoke floated from beehive ovens beside the adobe houses that lined the road. The smell of baking bread hung in the morning air, mingling with the scent of bacon and strong coffee.