SleepyHollow2BookBundle (14 page)

“I’ll see him tomorrow,” she whispered quietly, to no one in particular. “I’ll bake him a pie.” Despite his frame of lean muscle, John had a voracious appetite, and was particularly fond of sweet things. She’d visited him at the Jansens’ home and at the schoolhouse many a time, and on those occasions she always brought something she’d baked for him in exchange for the books he allowed her to borrow. She glanced at the shelf opposite the window, where a thick volume of poetry laid. She’d read less than halfway through it, but she’d return it to him anyway and pretend to have finished it. Anything to see him, to assure herself that he was still alive and well. Maybe then her heart would beat a little more slowly.
 

* * * * *

“Well, how are they, John?” Mrs. Jansen towered over John as he sat in his chair at the kitchen table, dutifully chewing a mouthful of her griddle cakes. Several locks of dark hair had escaped from her cap to frame her round face in little ringlets, curled by the heat that rose from the griddle.

“Wonderful as usual, Mrs. Jansen. Somebody ought to put all of your recipes down in a book.”

She beamed, waving a hand tolerantly. “You and your books, John.” She bustled back to the griddle, mumbling little protests, but smiling all the while. The result was that she sounded like a very large, very pleased bumblebee.
 

Her griddle cakes
were
the best in Sleepy Hollow – the best that John had ever had, in fact. But this morning, he hardly tasted them. The previous night’s events had blurred together and surrounded him now like a sort of melancholy miasma. There were so many things to worry about that he hardly knew where to begin. Brom, for one – what, exactly, had happened between them the night before?

“Master Crane, tell us about the beast you saw at the edge of the wood last night!” This demand came from Timothy, the second youngest of the Jansen boys. Between living in the Jansens’ home and teaching at the local schoolhouse, John was rarely out of Timothy’s company and was fully aware of how doggedly insistent the boy could be. Add to that the fact that all three of his brothers had chimed in too, clamoring for the story, and John had no choice but to lie.

“It was a wicked thing with beady eyes that shone red in the moonlight,” he said, spearing another hunk of griddle cakes with his fork. “A hulking shadow that slipped out of the woods and gave a rumbling growl that rose from the pit of its chest.” He’d read enough fiction to know how to describe something dramatically, and in the interest of keeping his attempted suicide a secret, he was eager to make the supposed animal sound threatening enough to shoot at.

All four boys’ eyes had gone so wide that they appeared in peril of popping right out of their skulls. “I’ll wager it was a bear,” the oldest, Elijah, declared, pounding a fist on the tabletop. “Give me my rifle and I’ll have it shot and skinned by this afternoon.”

“We’ll make a rug out of it!” one of the others cried, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Mrs. Jansen said firmly, marching back to the table with another platter of hot cakes. “Master Crane scared it off, and that’s the end of it for you four.” She shot a plaintive glance across the table at her husband, whose wiry frame was in contrast with her round figure, and he gave a grunt that the boys seemed to interpret as a warning.

After a wave of dissatisfied grumbling, one of them worked up the courage to speak again, though he avoided any direct mention of hunting the beast. “Tell us more, Master Crane. How big do you think it was?”

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat and immediately regretted it. His ass ached from being ridden by Brom for so long the night before, and the hard wood of his seat was no help. “It was difficult to tell. Its coat was so dark that it blended in with the shadows.” How he wished he were anywhere but at the Jansens’ normally cozy breakfast table. Each of the boys’ curious questions inspired a fresh wave of confusion as he tried to mentally sort through the previous night’s events and make some sense of them.

“Enough about the bear,” Mr. Jansen growled, effectively shutting up his offspring.

John shot the man a grateful look, though he didn’t seem to notice, as absorbed in his breakfast as he was. After shoveling down the rest of his meal, John rose from the table, thanked his hosts and departed, eager to find some solitude so that he might hear himself think.

* * * * *

The schoolhouse was a peaceful place when it wasn’t filled with children. John breathed deeply as he stepped inside, invading the quiet emptiness. Here, at least, was a place where he could be alone with his thoughts. He strode to his own desk, past the vacant benches where his pupils often sat. There was a crude but functional stool behind it, and he sank onto it, propping his elbows on the desktop. The little building was so empty that he imagined he could hear the distant neigh of one of the Jansens’ horses. Their farm was relatively close to the schoolhouse, which was why he stayed with them, but not quite that close. Shoving thoughts of the ever-cantankerous Gunpowder and the rest of the family’s equine stock from his mind, he closed his eyes and let himself drift back to the night before.

He had wanted to die. Though he was beginning to doubt the sensibility of that desire now, he couldn’t deny it. Had he been a fool? He suspected so, but then, he’d had no reason to think that Brom would desire to continue their relationship, now that he was engaged. Had he really meant it when he’d said “never”? A shiver raced down John’s spine, tingling. Yes, he knew Brom had meant it. The question was whether his own conscience could possibly allow their relations to continue.

A man like Brom wasn’t meant to lie alone in a cold bed every night. Anyone could see that, and God knew John had heard the citizens of Sleepy Hollow state it often enough, gossiping lazily over Brom’s prospects and who he might choose to marry. As far as most of them were concerned, he and Katrina Van Tassel were a match made in Heaven. That was precisely why John suffered from the agonizing feeling that his own role in Brom’s life had ended. After marrying, what could he possibly need from John?

From their first spur-of-the-moment tumble seven months ago in a lonely field to their tryst the night before, he and Brom had given each other pleasure dozens upon dozens of times. It had seemed natural – surprisingly natural for John, who’d never known another male lover. And why shouldn’t it have been? They’d borne the brunt of each other’s passions, sustaining each other in a sleepy little place where people were few and lovers even fewer. It had seemed a perfect solution for two single men. But a third party, a bride…that changed everything.

Once he wed Katrina, what reason could Brom possibly have to seek John’s company? John swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat, deeply conscious of the chasm that had reopened inside him at the thought of losing Brom to marital bliss. How could he, a young and virtually penniless male schoolteacher, possibly compete with such an institution, with a bride as beautiful and sweet as an angel? He couldn’t, and he didn’t want to. Well, a part of him
did
want to, but when he thought of Katrina, he felt like a wicked bastard for even considering it. The truth was, he loved them both, and the only honorable thing to do was to step back, stanch his bleeding heart and leave them alone.
 

But Brom didn’t want him to do that. He still wanted John. Could it be that he’d fallen as hopelessly under the spell of their mutual passion as John had? It was difficult to believe that Brom could still entertain thoughts of continuing with him when he was about to claim the most desirable bride in the New York countryside, but there had been a certain undeniable honesty in his voice the night before, in his movements…
 

John shifted on the stool, sensing the internal ache that reminded him of where Brom had claimed him. He moaned lowly, suddenly aware of the fact that his cock was hard. He plucked at his breeches, trying to make himself comfortable. After several moments of listlessly changing positions, he cursed. It was fucking impossible. Even the thought of Brom drove him crazy with a desire that sliced straight through his doubts and fears, demanding satisfaction.

When the distinct clip-clop of a horse’s hooves sounded outside the cabin, he cursed again. Hopefully it was only someone passing by – after all, most people wouldn’t expect him to be inside the schoolhouse during the autumn break. But if it was Mr. Jansen, or one of the boys come to seek an extra set of hands, as they occasionally did, for some task around the farm… He didn’t dare to rise from behind the desk. Not when he was so obviously hard.

His heart jumped into his throat when the sound of hooves stopped and a horse snorted, clearly from just outside the schoolhouse. He cast his gaze around the room, anxiously seeking something – anything – to feign interest in. He kept all of his precious books in his bedroom at the Jansens’, and hadn’t brought even one along, since there were no classes. Now, he cursed himself for it. His eye landed on something else – a rather ragged-looking writing quill, the tip of which protruded from beneath one of the students’ benches. It looked suspiciously as if it had been trodden on and the feather shaft broken in two. Perhaps he could pick it up and feign annoyance…

But no. The footsteps were too close, and the schoolhouse door was swinging open. Gripping the edge of the desktop so fiercely that his knuckles went white, John remained behind the desk, determined to hide a massive erection.

The door creaked faintly on its hinges, and Brom stepped over the threshold, his large frame blocking out most of the mid-morning sunshine.

John’s cock throbbed rebelliously, even as he felt himself go pale. “What are you doing here?” The words tumbled out, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the other man as he awaited an answer.

Brom managed to sound remarkably casual. “Came to work on the roof. It needs to be repaired before the winter term begins.” His easygoing façade slipped away as he pulled the door tightly shut and a rather alarming glint lit up his dark eyes.
 

For a moment, John was struck by the irrational but sure thought that Brom could see straight through the oaken desk to where his cock stood tall in his lap. It was absurd, but he’d never felt so exposed. Mentally analyzing Brom and his words was one thing, but now the man had stepped unexpectedly out of John’s memory and was here in the flesh. How could he face this when he hadn’t even sorted through his memories of the night before yet?

“It can wait until another day.” John heard the words drift through the air, as if they’d been spoken by someone else. “The weather is fair – there’s no danger of rain or snow.”

“Fine.” Brom had reached the desk, and laid his hands down on it. His palms were flat against the wood, the set of his shoulders determined. His dark eyes locked with John’s.
 

John knew he’d been played. The look in Brom’s eyes was not a look that any man had ever displayed while intent on repairing loosened shingles. “Why are you really here, Brom?”

“I said I’d see you again soon.”

“Last night,” John said, recalling the moment in perfect clarity. “Just before you left.” He hadn’t imagined that Brom meant
this
soon – the morning after their last emotionally charged encounter.

“I had to leave.”

John remembered watching Brom ride away, flying through the night, careless as he sped by the darkened forest. A shiver raced down his spine, and a surge of longing swept through him. Obviously, Brom had made it home unharmed. “Did you?” Brom’s flight had been reckless and unnecessary.

A tendon popped beneath Brom’s jaw, a familiar sign of his rising temper. “Yes. If I’d stayed, I would have had to either take you again, or choke the life out of you with my bare hands.”

“So you chose to leave,” John said, fighting the way one corner of his mouth seemed to want to quirk up into a wry smile. “It was a noble flight, then, intended to preserve both my reputation with the Jansens and my life.”

Brom’s mouth twitched too, though it seemed more likely to be out of anger than the sort of detached amusement John was experiencing. It was remarkably strange that he should be fighting even the most sarcastic laughter while the dark cloud of his attempted suicide still hung over him, and yet, he was.

“You can mock me,” Brom said, “but yes, it was.” He was silent for a moment, his dark eyes boring into John’s. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

John continued to resist the bitter humor that was welling up inside him, tempting him to goad Brom into outright anger. If the man had a fault, it was his temper. “I suppose I don’t,” was all he said.

Brom snorted, reminding John of a bull, as he had the night before. “Well, I’ve come here to make it clear.”

“And let the roof be damned?”

Brom waved one hand toward the ceiling, his mouth twisting in a crooked, tight-lipped smile that made his dark eyes appear all the more fierce. “It can wait until another day.”

John opened his mouth to reply but was shocked into silence when Brom moved quickly, laying a hand on his cheek and guiding his jaw so that their gazes were deadlocked. The gesture certainly wasn’t gentle, though it wasn’t quite rough.

“I was too furious to tell you last night,” Brom said, “but a sleepless night spent in a cold bed was enough to cool my temper, and now I intend to see that you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”