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  It didn’t take much more than that. The simple sound of his voice sent delicious sensations swirling inside her, along with a hint of a mysterious satisfaction she dually craved to experience. If only all she had to do was say yes, and he’d roll over and wrap his arms around her. Since that was about as likely to happen as the petals from a daisy falling instead of snowflakes outside the window, she answered, “No.”

  He flipped the covers back. “The fire’s almost out. I’ll stoke it and check on Nathan. That storm’s really howling. I suspect we’ll see a foot of snow on the ground by morning.”

  “I suspect,” she murmured, not really caring if there was a foot or a mountain of snow.

  She’d been here before, this crossroads muddling her mind—several times. When Orville had asked her to marry him. When they packed up and left Ohio for the Nebraska plains. When Nathan was born in their tiny cabin not two miles from where she now lay. When Orville died.

  This time was different. Each of those times, even though they hadn’t been clear and she’d been nervous, she’d known which route to take. Right now. Tonight. She didn’t.

  There were choices. She could stay on the trail she was on—they were on—where she and Morgan were courteous and respectful to one another and most likely would have a simple, platonic life on the outside while miserable on the inside. Or she could pack up and return to Ohio. Not that there was much there for her, but when you love someone you want them to be happy, and Morgan wasn’t happy. A double-edged saw blade seemed to be cutting her in half. Because she loved Morgan so dearly, leaving wasn’t the choice she wanted to make. Traveling with a child in the dead of winter would be foolish, dangerous even. Furthermore, if she were to leave, people would blame Morgan. She couldn’t abide that. A finer man didn’t exist, which made the third option calling to her stronger—it was the one that led straight to Morgan’s heart. An odd sensation said that path could be rocky, dangerous even, but something deep in her core told her that when she reached the end of the journey, she wouldn’t be disappointed. The trouble was, that appeared to be what Morgan didn’t want, which threatened to tear her heart right out of her chest, for ultimately, his love was her greatest desire.

  Across the room, the smoldering coals leaped to life as Morgan stirred them and added logs. Crouched in the glow, his dark hair rumpled and wearing the long underdrawers that highlighted his thickly muscled frame, he looked so fine Cora had to bite her lip to keep from moaning aloud. She wanted him, as a wife wants her husband, but it was stronger than that even, bolder and more primitive. It was as if she wanted him to live inside her.

  She’d grown to love Orville, bless his soul—as people do when life throws them together—but she’d fallen in love with Morgan, and there was a big difference. For as devoted as Orville had been she’d never wanted him like this. Deep in her heart, the spot that held the secret to happiness, promised that life with Morgan would be a wondrous adventure. Beyond anything she could imagine. Thrilling, and divine, and worthy.

  This time it was a dreamy sigh that escaped her lips, created by those inner possibilities she couldn’t ignore.

  Morgan rose and moved toward the small bed he’d constructed to fit in the small alcove beside the fireplace so Nathan would be warm even on the coldest nights. His stride was sleek and powerful, yet she’d never seen him be anything other than kind and gentle with both her and her son. Her longings—the sweet, luscious stirrings inside her—intensified as he bent down and tucked the covers close around Nathan’s little body.

  The fire snapped and crackled, and Cora closed her eyes, imagining the warmth it spewed into the room was Morgan’s love radiating into her heart, filling her with joy. Right then, somewhere between dreams and reality, a revelation presented itself. Love was a gift, meant to be given away, not harbored or kept hidden. She just had to discover how to present it to Morgan. He wouldn’t have married her if he didn’t have some feelings for her, she knew him well enough to know that.

  A surge of strength or perhaps resolve filled her spirit, gave hope where moments ago despair had sat like flour and water mixed into a thick paste. A hint of a smile touched her lips. When sugar, a touch of flavoring and leavening is added to flour and water a cake is created. A sweet dessert most people can’t refuse.

  Cora’s excitement grew, and she sat up in bed. She just needed a recipe—a plan. No one sets out on a journey without a plan. Even a child, when learning to walk, has a plan—an intuition that tells them what to do—and soon they’re running as if they’d always been able to. She had intuition. Morgan produced a great number of them inside her every day.

  * * *

  “He’s forever kicking off the covers.”

  Morgan Palmer flinched at how Cora’s whisper made his heart jolt. It shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew she was awake, but that’s just how his heart reacted to her. It hadn’t been his own for some time, and that had him spooked. “I know,” he answered, keeping his voice low and tucking the blanket beneath Nathan’s tiny chin. “He’s fine, go back to sleep.”

  “Aren’t you coming back to bed?” she asked.

  “In a minute,” he replied, needing time before crawling in next to her again. Lying there was one thing while she slept—a whole other when she was awake. Morgan ran a hand over Nathan’s soft hair, in hopes of diverting his attention. Reminding himself of why she and little Nathan were here was the only solace he had. Yet, even that—lamenting over the pain he’d caused her—was no longer working. The wall he’d built around himself was crumbling. No, he recanted, silently and perceptively. It had already crumbled. Fallen down and reduced to nothing but dust. They’d done that months ago, shattered his barrier, Cora and her tiny son.

  It was a funny thing, how a child could affect a man. There was a special shine in Nathan’s eyes that dang near choked Morgan up, and when Nathan talked his gibberish, Morgan wished he could understand what the child was saying, for it filled him with a unique sense of wonder.

  He found pride, too, in little Nathan, and had grown anxious for the day he could tuck the child in the saddle and ride the range, showing the boy everything that would someday be his. Morgan had never imagined he’d become a father. But he had, and loved Nathan as much as if he’d been the one to sire him.

  A stinging sensation spread across his chest, as if he’d just been stabbed with a dull knife. The pain was almost enough to double him over. Loving Nathan didn’t change the fact the child wasn’t his. He hadn’t been the one to sample Cora’s delectable body, to couple with her to bring a new life into the world. Orville had. And Orville had been a fine man. One who hadn’t done anything to deserve the lot he’d been given—dying from pneumonia before his son was old enough to remember him.

  Morgan welcomed the remorse seeping in. It made him remember it was his fault—that he was responsible for Cora and Nathan. Providing for them was his duty. Orville had caught pneumonia rescuing cattle hosting the Palmer brand from the swollen river. It had been a shock, to say the least, when Cora showed up at his doorstep a week after the rainstorm, asking for assistance to bury her husband.

  Morgan moved away from Nathan’s bed to stand in front of the fire as chilling, razor-sharp fingers gripped the underside of his spine. It should have been him that died. His death wouldn’t have left a woman and child on their own.

  He’d dug Orville’s grave, stood by Cora’s side during the well-attended service and in the weeks that followed, tried to convince her to go back to Ohio. She’d refused, most likely because she was too distraught with the thought of leaving her husband behind. Then as the weeks turned into months and her refusals continued, Morgan assumed it was because she had no one to return to in Ohio. No family, no friends.

  Six months later, when October rolled around and Morgan realized Cora had no choice but to stay through the winter, he’d proposed. It had been an impulsive, foolish thing to do—him, a bachelor pushing thirty, asking a sweet, youthful woman to marry him. But he’d had no
choice. She was strong, and resourceful, but the winters here were long and hard, and the thought of her and Nathan struggling through the months had torn him in two.

  The flames bit at Morgan’s hands and he pulled them away from the fire, rubbing the heated palms over his thighs. The Fisher place was two miles west of his cattle ranch. Orville had built their cabin right next to what some called the Mormon Trail due to the migration of thousands who followed the footsteps of Brigham Young—the first to lead the worshippers across the plains to Utah and their land of Milk and Honey. Morgan and most locals called it the Overland Trail because more than just religious groups traveled the well-beaten path.

  Orville, a wheelwright from Ohio, had thought by building a few miles outside town, he’d catch customers before they arrived in Central City. It had worked, Orville had sold plenty of wheels—when he’d been alive. It was after his death the dangers of a lone woman and her baby living alongside the trail let themselves be known.

  Morgan had spent many nights bedded down in Cora’s barn while a train camped nearby, and more than once persuaded a roaming visitor from going any closer to her little cabin. Keeping up the vigil come winter would have been impossible. Furthermore he’d witnessed other men willing to take over his sentinel. The thought of her marrying one of them had been harder to swallow than the fact he’d killed her husband, so with his hat in his hands and his heart practically pounding out of his chest, he’d proposed.

  A fall off a bucking horse couldn’t have knocked the air from his chest any faster than her outright delighted answer had, and a week later, they were married.

  Morgan stepped away from the fire, keeping his back to the bed where Cora lay. Not that it would help. Nothing did. The overwhelming longing he had for her couldn’t be quelled that easy. Steamy, intense desires of how badly he wanted to sample her charming body lived inside him twenty-four hours a day. A kinder, gentler woman didn’t exist. Nor was there one lovelier. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled had the power to drop him to his knees, inside leastwise, where it mattered.

  The consequences of his proposal hadn’t hit him until after the ceremony, when he’d tasted the sweetest lips on earth. Brigham Young was wrong, leastwise in Morgan’s eyes—Utah wasn’t the land of Milk and Honey, Cora was. She was the closest thing to heaven on earth imaginable.

  “Morgan,” she whispered from across the room. “Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

  “Yes,” he lied, half choking at the way his heart took to strangling him. “When the fire dies down a bit.”

  He threw himself into the rocking chair near the fireplace and stopped the sways by planting both feet on the floor, wishing he could control his feelings as easily. It had been two months since he’d moved her from her little cabin into his. At first it wasn’t too bad. He’d spent most of his nights on the range bringing the cattle closer to the homestead for the winter months, or he slept in the bunkhouse, claiming to be too dirty to grace the sheets of her bed. But now that the ranch and weather had settled into winter, those excuses no longer existed and the attraction he felt for her had only intensified. He didn’t quite know what it meant—this invisible draw inside him—other than it was driving him as crazy as a blind bull. He couldn’t make it through half a thought without thinking of her.

  He should go back to bed. She needed her rest. The woman never sat still, she was up before the sun and busy long after it set. But lying there, fighting the desires reeling inside him as her sweet scent drifted around was so difficult. At some point he’d break, that was a given, but he couldn’t let that happen—not yet. Resting his head against the back of the chair, he let the hard wood irritate his neck. Maybe the pain would drive some sense into him. He should never have married her. It was bad enough he’d killed her husband, he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—dishonor Orville more by sleeping with her. It wasn’t right. A year of mourning was customary. Even in the untamed fields of Nebraska.

  Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead into his palm, frustrated with his own justification. A year—when had he decided that was all it would take? Cora had said that amount of time was customary when Wes Barkley had approached her after Orville’s funeral, but she’d been distraught that day. She may love Orville until the end of time, and Morgan couldn’t blame her. Nor could he impress his emotions upon her.

  There’d been a time or two when he may not have been the most respectable man on earth, but he always considered himself smart. Knew right from wrong, and for the most part was successful in all his endeavors, his decisions. Why, then, couldn’t he get a handle on this situation? A silent moan rumbled his chest. He didn’t seem to have a lick of sense when it came to Cora.

  “Morgan?”

  Unaware she’d left their bed and now stood before him, he leaped to his feet. When she wobbled, Morgan grasped her arms to steady her, and damned himself at the same time. The firelight danced in her hair and made the gown she wore translucent. He fought to keep his eyes from dipping to her breasts, but the almost mischievous glimmer in her silver-hued eyes was just as stimulating.

  “Can I get something for you? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” she whispered.

  “No,” Morgan answered, teeth clenched and muscles as stiff as if he were wrestling a steer to the ground.

  Glancing toward the fire, giving him a view of her graceful neck and profile, she rubbed her arms, shivered beneath his touch. “It must really be cold out. It’s never been this chilly in here before.”

  He barely caught a moan before it slipped out. “Come on.” Fighting himself, yet acknowledging he couldn’t have her standing here shivering, he led her across the room. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  She crawled beneath the covers, held them up for him.

  Morgan swallowed the lump in his throat, and then, knowing he shouldn’t, he climbed in next to her.

  Chapter Two

  As usual, Morgan was gone when Cora woke, causing another exasperated sigh to float over her lips. A smile followed, though, and a breeze of contentment fluttered around her. When he’d crawled into bed last night, he’d slipped one arm around her, shared the heat of his body with her.

  She huddled beneath the covers for a moment longer, relishing how wonderful it had been to rest her head upon his shoulder, snuggle against the length of his body. The memorable bliss made her mind tumble. If only she knew what she’d done, why he loathed her so, then she’d be able to apologize—over and over until she found a way to make up for it, so they could sleep like that every night.

  No, Cora reflected, burrowed beneath thick covers with his scent lingering on the pillow. Morgan didn’t loathe her. He’d never made her feel that way. It was more like he was afraid of her, which was just as ridiculous. Morgan didn’t show fear in any circumstance. His demeanor was steadfast, coupled with a thoughtful intelligence others valued and respected. It was a distinguishing characteristic that had intrigued her since their first meeting. It was all so baffling. Downright perplexing, the way he kept his distance, for Morgan Palmer wasn’t a shy man, either. He was the epitome of grit and determination in so many ways.

  Cora threw back the covers. Lying here—no matter how wonderful the memory—wouldn’t give any more answers than it had yesterday morning, or the morning before that.

  As always, Morgan had fueled the fire and built one in the cookstove before leaving. She stepped behind the screen partitioning off a private area and dressed quickly, for even with the fires blazing a chill hovered in the far corners of the cabin.

  Pausing near Nathan’s bed, she kissed her son’s tousled blond hair before moving to the kitchen area to prepare breakfast. Morgan rarely joined them for a meal. He usually ate in the bunkhouse, but she always made plenty, unable to quell the hope one day he might. For months now the leftovers had been used for her and Nathan’s lunch.

  An hour later Nathan was awake, sitting in the high chair Morgan had built for him, when the door opened, filling the cabin with a blast of wintry air. Cora’s he
art leaped to her throat, pulsing joy through her bloodstream as Morgan hurried inside and closed the door with a solid thump.

  “Moga!” Nathan screeched while clapping jelly-encrusted hands.

  “Hi, buddy.” Morgan’s handsome face, red from the weather, lit up with a smile. “Brrr,” he said to Nathan as he removed his hat. “It’s cold out there.”

  “Brrr!” Nathan repeated.

  Morgan chuckled and Cora wished with all her heart she could copy Nathan’s enthusiasm, demonstrate the happiness jumping inside her, but the sixth sense that appeared just as swiftly as her joy had told her Morgan wouldn’t appreciate such actions. Holding her silence and contemplating her lack of understanding, she rose to gather a cup and the coffee from the stove.

  “Stay there,” Morgan insisted, “I’ll get it.”

  She slumped back onto the chair, dejected. It seemed he didn’t want, nor need, anything from her.

  No matter how heavy her heart hung in her chest, her eyes couldn’t resist following him as he not only filled a cup with coffee, but piled a plate with bacon and scrambled eggs from the pans on the stove. Every simple movement he made had her remembering the feel of his arm around her, the rise and fall of his chest below her cheek, and caused the longing in her to grow until she ached.

  He sat then, across the table from her but next to Nathan. A fleeting, disgusting thought shot across her mind. She was jealous of her own child—jealous that he could garner attention and affection from Morgan while she couldn’t. She bowed her head, but only for a second because her eyes refused to stop watching him.

  “Good stuff,” Morgan stated, pointing his fork at Nathan’s plate.

  “Goo uff,” Nathan repeated, nodding his head.

  Again, Morgan chuckled, and again Cora felt a knife nick at her heart. She was extremely thankful Morgan enjoyed Nathan so much. Fact was, no matter how much she liked a man, or realized how important it was for Nathan to have a father figure, she could never tolerate one who didn’t care for the boy. She just wished Morgan cared the tiniest bit for her.