marrying you—ever.” He turned and brushed the lock of hair away from her eyes with a touch as gentle as one he might use for a newborn filly. “I care enough about you—and your ma and pa—not to make you an object of pity and scorn by marrying you.”
“Are you done?”
Ethan nodded grimly.
“In the first place, I might have been a child when I first fell in love with you, but I’m grown up now.” She took a deep breath and, searching his troubled eyes, admitted, “I still love you, Ethan. I always will.
“In the second place, I don’t believe you raped Merielle Trahern.”
Ethan grimaced. “You’re the only one who doesn’t.”
Patch put a hand across his lips to shut him up and found them still damp from kissing her. And soft. She knew just how soft, because those lips had been pressed to hers. Ethan’s first kiss had been everything she had ever imagined, and some things she hadn’t.
She hadn’t expected her knees to go weak. She hadn’t expected him to put his tongue in her mouth. She hadn’t expected to taste him. Despite all her talk of being a woman, she had been amazed at the new sensations that had bombarded her, making her feel like a bowl of jelly left too long in the sun. But she had liked it all. And she wanted more.
“I know you’re worried about what Pa will say. But Pa only wants me to be happy, Ethan. And marrying you will make me happy.”
Patch saw the denial in Ethan’s features and hurried to finish before he cut her off. “You need a wife, Ethan. Or at least this ranch needs a woman’s touch. Your mother obviously isn’t well, and your sister …” Patch smiled ruefully. “Your sister reminds me of myself at the same age.” Patch grinned. “She’s no housekeeper.”
“Patch—”
Patch put her whole hand across his mouth. “You can’t say I’m not attractive to you, Ethan.” Patch felt the flush skating across her cheekbonesat such plain speaking. “I … uh … could feel the evidence that would make any denial a lie.”
Ethan would never know how frightening that had been for her, to feel the shape of him pressed hard against her and to know what it meant he wanted from her. Her father raised horses, so she had seen more than one stallion cover a mare. Their coupling was always a wild and savage thing. When the time came, she couldn’t imagine how she was going to survive the embarrassment of it all. But with Ethan, she darn sure was willing to give it a try.
Having nothing more to say, Patch dropped her hand from Ethan’s face. She threaded her fingers together before her and waited for his response. It wasn’t long coming.
“You’re forgetting the most important reason why I can’t—won’t—make you my wife.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Patch said. “I simply don’t believe a word of the accusation against you. You’d never rape a woman, Ethan.” She swallowed and said, “You wouldn’t have to.”
Ethan felt a painful tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure whether it was gratitude for her blind faith in him or the awful knowledge that he had forfeited any chance of ever having a decent woman for his wife when he had fled so many years ago. Now he saw the folly of running instead of staying to seek out the truth.
He had been only fifteen when someone raped Merielle Trahern. He had found her after the fact, but when her brother, Dorne, discovered them together, he hadn’t waited for explanations. By thetime Jefferson Trahern arrived on the scene to find Ethan wounded in the leg by Dorne’s bullet, and Dorne accidentally shot dead, Ethan had known nobody was going to listen to his side of the story before they hung him.
So he had run, and kept on running for ten years, until one of Trahern’s private detectives finally caught him. The trial had been a farce, but at least he hadn’t been convicted of raping Merielle, for which he had his friend, Boyd, to thank.
Now,
seventeen years
later, he still wasn’t free of his
“Are you done?”
Ethan nodded grimly.
“In the first place, I might have been a child when I first fell in love with you, but I’m grown up now.” She took a deep breath and, searching his troubled eyes, admitted, “I still love you, Ethan. I always will.
“In the second place, I don’t believe you raped Merielle Trahern.”
Ethan grimaced. “You’re the only one who doesn’t.”
Patch put a hand across his lips to shut him up and found them still damp from kissing her. And soft. She knew just how soft, because those lips had been pressed to hers. Ethan’s first kiss had been everything she had ever imagined, and some things she hadn’t.
She hadn’t expected her knees to go weak. She hadn’t expected him to put his tongue in her mouth. She hadn’t expected to taste him. Despite all her talk of being a woman, she had been amazed at the new sensations that had bombarded her, making her feel like a bowl of jelly left too long in the sun. But she had liked it all. And she wanted more.
“I know you’re worried about what Pa will say. But Pa only wants me to be happy, Ethan. And marrying you will make me happy.”
Patch saw the denial in Ethan’s features and hurried to finish before he cut her off. “You need a wife, Ethan. Or at least this ranch needs a woman’s touch. Your mother obviously isn’t well, and your sister …” Patch smiled ruefully. “Your sister reminds me of myself at the same age.” Patch grinned. “She’s no housekeeper.”
“Patch—”
Patch put her whole hand across his mouth. “You can’t say I’m not attractive to you, Ethan.” Patch felt the flush skating across her cheekbonesat such plain speaking. “I … uh … could feel the evidence that would make any denial a lie.”
Ethan would never know how frightening that had been for her, to feel the shape of him pressed hard against her and to know what it meant he wanted from her. Her father raised horses, so she had seen more than one stallion cover a mare. Their coupling was always a wild and savage thing. When the time came, she couldn’t imagine how she was going to survive the embarrassment of it all. But with Ethan, she darn sure was willing to give it a try.
Having nothing more to say, Patch dropped her hand from Ethan’s face. She threaded her fingers together before her and waited for his response. It wasn’t long coming.
“You’re forgetting the most important reason why I can’t—won’t—make you my wife.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Patch said. “I simply don’t believe a word of the accusation against you. You’d never rape a woman, Ethan.” She swallowed and said, “You wouldn’t have to.”
Ethan felt a painful tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure whether it was gratitude for her blind faith in him or the awful knowledge that he had forfeited any chance of ever having a decent woman for his wife when he had fled so many years ago. Now he saw the folly of running instead of staying to seek out the truth.
He had been only fifteen when someone raped Merielle Trahern. He had found her after the fact, but when her brother, Dorne, discovered them together, he hadn’t waited for explanations. By thetime Jefferson Trahern arrived on the scene to find Ethan wounded in the leg by Dorne’s bullet, and Dorne accidentally shot dead, Ethan had known nobody was going to listen to his side of the story before they hung him.
So he had run, and kept on running for ten years, until one of Trahern’s private detectives finally caught him. The trial had been a farce, but at least he hadn’t been convicted of raping Merielle, for which he had his friend, Boyd, to thank.
Now,
seventeen years
later, he still wasn’t free of his
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