Marry Me (37 page)

Until he saw the syrup on her lips. That was when he decided there was really no reason he couldn’t finish breakfast in bed.

Rhyne knew they were returning to the bedroom before Cole was on his feet. She saw it in the darkening of his eyes as they settled on her face, and she responded to the predatory watchfulness by pushing away from the table and standing. She reached for his hand. He reached for the syrup.

Rhyne never saw his sleight-of-hand. Stripped of her chemise and drawers and lying almost sideways across the bed, the first she knew that he had something in his hand was when he knelt between her open thighs and tipped his fist above her belly. She stared at the thin rivulet of syrup spilling from the center of his palm. He opened his hand to reveal the dainty china pitcher just as the first drop touched her belly. He heard her draw sharply on a breath and watched her skin retract.

He filled her navel and then drizzled the rest in a lacy pattern across her abdomen and around her breasts. Putting the pitcher aside, he studied his handiwork long enough to cause her to stir. He leaned forward, careful not to disturb the liquid lace. “What do you want?” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

It was impossible for her to look away. She knew her eyes were a mirror of his, knew that they reflected his desire as much as they revealed her own. “Feed on me,” she said. “I want you to feed on me.”

Undone, Cole took her breast in his mouth and sucked. The pleasure of it was so finely honed that it made her whimper. Her breasts were tender, the aureoles rosy from the attention of his lips and fingertips throughout the long night. Her nipples were sensitive to a whisper. The hot and humid suck of his mouth was a firestorm.

She came the moment his lips closed around her other breast.

Cole gave her no time to catch her breath. He pulled her legs around him and thrust deeply inside her. She jerked, pulled him down by his shoulders, and arched her back, smearing his chest and abdomen with syrup. He paused just long enough to register the look of triumph in her eyes before he reclaimed all of it for himself.

After leaving Rhyne at the house, Cole went to Rose’s to get Whitley. During the walk home, she peppered him with so many questions about Rhyne’s health that they were already turning the corner to the house before he got in a word edgewise. “Stop, Whit,” he said, taking her arm as she made to cross the street. “And let me have your valise. I’m tired of you banging it against my leg.”

She handed it over. “It took you long enough to offer. I swear, Cole, your mind drifts more than snow in a blizzard.” When he gaped at her, she giggled. “Digger said it first, only he was talking about me.”

“Good for him.” He ignored the saucy wrinkling of her nose and steered her away from the house. “Longabach’s,” he said. “Raisin pie.”

Whitley was wearing her most fiercely anxious expression by the time they reached the restaurant. Estella showed them to a table away from the window and fussed a little over Whitley’s unruly hair before she took their order. Whitley smiled bravely and felt her lower lip tremble. She stared at her folded hands after Mrs. Longabach tiptoed away.

“Whitley,” said Cole. “Look at me.” When she wouldn’t raise her eyes, he didn’t press. “I don’t have any idea what’s going through your mind right now.”

“You’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear. Something bad. Maybe that you’re sending me back to Miss Starcher’s.” She risked a glimpse at him and found no confirmation of her worst fear. “Or maybe that we’re
both
going back to New York.” She shot him a second look, this one slightly sideways from under the fan of her fiery lashes. He was staring at her with the intensity he usually reserved for what appeared under the lens of his microscope. “Or maybe it’s Rhyne that’s leaving. Is that it? You’re angry at her because she got drunk with Mrs. Beatty, and now she has to leave because you think I’ll take up drink and be just like her.”
That
got a reaction. “Well, maybe I will, and won’t you be sorry? Is she packing her things? Is that why you brought me here? I want to see her.” She started to get up, but Cole clamped a hand around her wrist and with just a look, ordered her back in her chair. Tears welled in Whitley’s eyes. “I can’t sit here. Not if she’s leaving.”

“She’s
not
leaving.”

“She’s not?”

“No.” Cole released Whitley’s wrist and spoke only when he was certain she was firmly settled in her chair. “Rhyne is going to be my wife. Pastor Duun is going to marry us this afternoon.” Sitting back, Cole regarded his sister with a certain amount of satisfaction. “So this is what it takes to make you speechless. I’ve always wondered.”

It wasn’t that Whitley didn’t have anything to say. It was that she had a
hundred
things to say–all at once. A dam of words clogged her throat. She thought that must be the reason tears spilled so freely. She wasn’t used to saying nothing. The frustration would likely kill her, and then she’d miss the wedding.

“All right,” said Cole. “I have a few questions anyway. Why did you ask about Rhyne’s health when you knew that drinking was the problem?”

Whitley took out a handkerchief and dabbed daintily at her eyes. “Because I didn’t
want
you to know that I knew. It was so important to everyone that I shouldn’t know the truth that the polite thing seemed to be to let you go on lying.”

Cole blew out an uneasy breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “It serves me right, I suppose. What else do you know that you’re not supposed to?”

She put her handkerchief away and merely stared at him.

“Well, thank you for that. I want you to promise that you’ll never tell me.”

Smiling, Whitley crossed her heart. She saw Mrs. Longa-bach approaching. “Our pie’s here. Wedding talk has restored my appetite.”

“Wedding?” asked Estella, setting their plates down. “Who’s getting married?”

Whitley ignored Cole’s nudge under the table. She beamed at Mrs. Longabach. “My brother and Rhyne Abbot are getting hitched. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s what you say here? Getting hitched.”

“We do, and isn’t that some kind of good news?” Her thin face was transformed by a broad smile as she looked Whitley over. “And I reckon you look about as happy now as someone can and still call it decent. My, oh my. Wait until I tell Henry. He suspicioned it some time ago.” She handed them each a fork. “When’s the wedding, Doctor? I’d be happy to put out a spread.”

“Thank you, but we’re getting married this afternoon. Pastor Duun already agreed. I couldn’t ask you do something on such short notice.”

Estella Longabach pursed her lips. “Humph. Sounds to me as if I was going to get
no
notice. I’m not saying there’s a right way do things, Dr. Monroe, but there sure is a wrong way. What you’re fixin’ to do is, well, I can’t say exactly since there’s a pair of pink and pretty ears sitting right here.”

Whitley preened, complimented by Estella’s reference to her ears as both pink and pretty. She only smiled more deeply when Cole scowled at her.

“Miss Abbot and I agreed that there would only be the pastor and his wife present, and Whitley, of course, to give Miss Abbot away.”

Whitley managed to keep herself from bouncing out of her chair. “Really, Cole? I’m to have a part?”

He nodded. “Rhyne insisted.”

“You’ll need another witness,” Estella said. “Whitley’s not old enough to stand up for you. Who’s that going to be?”

“I’m sure Pastor Duun has thought of that.”

“And I’m sure he hasn’t. Who would he ask without offending someone he didn’t? The same goes for you. Anyone you invite is going to lord it over the rest of us, and won’t that just set folks talking?”

“The people here don’t strike me that way.”

Whitley felt compelled to offer her opinion. “People are mostly the same everywhere. Just scratch them a little. You’ll see. I think you should listen to Mrs. Longabach. She knows this town a lot better than we do.”

Whitley was sorry for her interference when she saw Rhyne’s face pale as she described the conversation with Estella Longabach. Her eyes pleaded with Cole to make it right.

Cole took Rhyne’s hands and warmed them between his. “I didn’t agree,” he told her. “Whitley should have said that right away. It doesn’t matter to me if Estella’s correct about everything. We’re getting married this afternoon.” He watched some color return to Rhyne’s complexion, but her eyes were still too wide and watchful and the expression in them was pained.

Whitley scooted the tuffet she was sitting on closer to the sofa where Cole and Rhyne were sharing the same end. “I didn’t know it was you,” she said to Rhyne. “I thought Cole was the one that didn’t want the attention. I thought he wasn’t being fair to you. Caroline Erwin asked for every kind of persnickety thing, and I could tell he wished she’d stop talking about ribbons and engravings and silver filigree, but he let her go on and on because he just can’t help being decent.”

“Did you think I suddenly
could
help myself?” Cole asked dryly.

“Maybe I did. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I suppose I thought Rhyne would do whatever you wanted. I didn’t realize you were doing it for her.”

“Did it ever occur to you that it’s what we both want?”

“Are you doing it for me?” asked Rhyne at the same time. That brought two pairs of green eyes swiveling in her direction. “Well, are you?”

This was ground that called for careful treading, and Cole wished he were the skilled diplomat his father had been. “I love you, Rhyne, and I’m proud and humbled that you’re willing to marry me. I would show you off to the entire town because I can’t help but be cast in a better light when you’re at my side. I think we–”

Rhyne gave him a sharp look. “Folks already see a halo around your head. The light doesn’t get better than that.”

Whitley leaned forward. “She’s right, Cole. And I’m not certain about the part where you said you were humbled, although it was very prettily said.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw Rhyne nodding in agreement. He pinned Whitley back with a sharp, reproving glance, and then turned to Rhyne. “I wanted you to marry me weeks ago, so I can’t think of a single reason why it shouldn’t happen today. I
am
that selfish. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to celebrate our marriage. I’m also that proud. I’d fill the church with as many people as could be there by three o’clock if you could tolerate it. Not having them there is no kind of sacrifice for me, Rhyne. Not having you be my wife at nightfall is.”

Before Rhyne could respond, he turned to Whitley. “And if a man isn’t humbled by your acceptance of his proposal, then he doesn’t think enough of you. Show him the door at once.”

Cole released Rhyne’s hands and sat back. He slid an arm along the couch behind her shoulders. Almost immediately she settled into his offered embrace. When she looked up at him, he saw just a hint of contentment in her smile. The fullness of it was there in her eyes.

Fascinated, Whitley looked from her brother to Rhyne and back again. Being a witness was infinitely better than being an eavesdropper. She kept it to herself in the event Cole had not already gauged her avid interest.

“I wouldn’t mind if Rachel Cooper was there,” Rhyne said at last. “I could stand that.”

Cole nodded. “She
is
responsible for us meeting when we did.”

“And there’s the sheriff to consider.” “That’s right. Wyatt insisted that I go out to the cabin.” Rhyne pressed her index finger under her chin as she continued to think. “That no-account Beatty boy escorted you.”

“He did. He also found you.”

“We can’t
not
ask him to be there. I never had a problem with Will.”

“That’s what he says.”

Rhyne pursed her mouth to one side. “Rose should come. She helped me think straight.”

Whitley nodded wisely. “Whiskey does that.” That earned her a glare from her brother and a frown from Rhyne. She held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Just something I heard.”

Amused, Rhyne simply shook her head. “Is there anyone else?”

He ticked off the people whose name she’d mentioned. “That’s four in addition to Mrs. Duun.”

“Well, I reckon that’ll do. I’ve played cards with more people than that at a table. Seems like I should be able to have them there.”

Cole squeezed her shoulder lightly. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll know come three o’clock.”

Whitley frowned. “There’s something I don’t understand. You used to perform on stage in front of everyone that could squeeze into the Miner Key, and now it seems as if …” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how it seems exactly. Are you afraid, Rhyne? Is that why you don’t want hardly anyone there?”

Rhyne placed her hand on Cole’s knee to keep him from interrupting. “Performing is pretending, Whitley. Sometimes it’s being someone you’re not. Sometimes it’s about believing in someone you could be. There’s never been much difference for me whether I was on stage or just living my life. Pretending is how I got by. There’re still some days, even after all this time of being with you and Cole, that I’m not used to my own skin. I don’t know what I’d do if folks came to gawk at me trading vows with your brother. Runt Abbot’s hard to shake. Could be I’d do something that would shame us all.”

Her fingers tightened on Cole’s knee. “You asked me if I was afraid, and the truth is that I am. Embarrassing you and Cole is what scares me. The fewer people there to witness it, the better off we’ll be.”

Whitley blinked and fumbled for her handkerchief. “There’s nothing that you could do that would embarrass me.”

“Then you need to raise your standards.”

“No, I don’t,” she said stoutly, swiping at her eyes. “Tell her, Cole. Tell her that she can’t shame us.” She used her handkerchief to wave him off when he would have spoken. “Never mind. It’s because you’re decent, just like my brother. And decent people don’t do shameful things. Manners and such are learned, but decency, that’s bred in the bone, leastways that’s what my father said, and I believe him.”

“My father is Judah Abbot,” Rhyne said gently.