She did, and then he peppered her with questions, which, to her credit, she answered patiently.
“I’m fine, I promise,” she said when he asked yet again if she’d like to lie down. “Lying down is the last thing I want to do right now.”
“Mrs. Bell and the others should be back soon.” He finally took a seat beside her. “Are you up to having all of those people here?”
“Jonathan Clark. If you dare cancel my Christmas feast over one Grady March trying to make off with our silver, I will never forgive you.”
She looked so serious that Jonathan didn’t dare mention the idea again. Instead, he reached up and wrapped one of her curls around his finger. The deepest feelings he had in his heart rose to the surface, and suddenly, he needed her to know. “I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d hurt you. If I . . . If I lost you.”
Her eyes widened some, but she remained completely still, as if she didn’t want to disturb his train of thought.
“Catherine,” he said, weighing his words. “I don’t know what kind of father I’ll be. I hope I’m a good one. As I hope I’m a good husband to you. But I want you to know—no, Ineedyou to know how much you mean to me. I know we were thrown together, although we both agreed to the arrangement, but you’re more than a woman who came in response to a request I passed on to my pastor. You’re more than simply a mail-order bride.” He drew in a deep breath, his eyes tracing each little freckle and line in her dear, beautiful face.
“I love you, Catherine,” he said finally.
Her lips formed a little o, and he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by confessing his feelings. What if she didn’t feel the same? Worse, what if she worried he might be the same sort of man as his father, despite her protestations otherwise?
“I love you too,” she replied.
The words were simple and exactly what he needed to hear.
He grinned at her, broadly and with his whole heart. And then he couldn’t wait a second longer to kiss her again.
He crushed her to him, pressing his lips to hers, and she melted into him, her hands reaching around his neck to pull him closer. He thought he could drown here, surrounded in Catherine, and he’d die perfectly happy. He reached up to place a hand on the back of her head, his fingers lacing through the strands of her wild hair. Her warm mouth fit perfectly against his, and he wanted never to let her go again.
It was she who pulled away, just far enough to say, “I love you for everything that you are, and everything you will be.”
He wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, but that would get them nowhere they needed to be right at this moment, when Mrs. Bell and the others were due back at any time. So, instead, he stood and took her hand.
And then he led his wife to their parlor, where O’Rourke had already picked up the mess that March had left. They stood before the bright, pretty tree, his arms wrapped around her as she leaned into him.
“Merry Christmas, my husband,” she said.
“Merry Christmas,” he replied as he rested his chin on her head.
It didn’t matter what came their way—robbers, grief, fear—they would handle it all, together.
