Seventh Bride, Seventh Brother Excerpt

Seventh Bride, Seventh Brother
August 2009 Excerpt

"It's only for the night," Risa assured Ry yet again as he and Bear reluctantly followed her into her father's house.

After they'd rescued his gear, Rafe had asked Ry where he was staying and it was then she'd learned he'd meant his claim of carrying around his room and board. He'd camped out the night before and planned to do the same for as many days as he was in Luna Hermosa, despite the inconveniences and the chilly fall weather.

Rafe had arranged with Cort to drop most of Ry's gear off at Cort's house, since Ry intended to come back the next day to look at the Jeep. Needing to get back to his wife and twin toddlers, Rafe left Risa with the job of convincing Ry that one night in a real bed wouldn't be a tortuous as he'd apparently decided it would be.

She'd done her best over the last several hours, all through dinner at the local diner, and now, standing in the darkened foyer. At least they were alone, her father and the rest of them not yet returned from dinner with Aria and her family at Rancho Piñ tada.

"We can't be that far from the river," Ry started up his protests again.

"I am not hauling you two to some godforsaken spot by the river or anywhere else tonight. Most of your stuff is at Cort's anyway," Risa said firmly. "My father's been a foster parent since before I was born. He's got plenty of extra room and he never minds making space for one more person." "A foster parent." His flat tone didn't inspire confidence that she was going to be able to keep him here. "Yes, he's fostering two children now."

"Great." Ry took a step back towards the door and she wondered if he even realized he was doing it. At his side, Bear hugged close to his leg and he automatically reached down to briefly scruff the dog's neck. "Look, this isn't a good idea."

"Why not? If you're worried about what my father will say - "

"I grew up in foster homes," he abruptly cut her off. "I'm not interested in reliving the experience."

His admission, one he couldn't have wanted to make, touched that part of her that had spent years trying to help those with broken lives repair the damage. Knowing the foster system all too well she suspected he had likely been a victim of the darker side of it.

"My father isn't like that." She spoke quietly, the way she did to the women and children she worked with, women who'd been beaten, demeaned, neglected, threatened. In Ry's hardened expression and sudden retreat, she saw the faces of the abandoned women and children she knew so well. "He and my mother were good foster parents; my father still is. Cort's oldest son, Tommy, lived with Dad for a while before Cort and Laurel adopted him. You can ask them, ask Tommy, how he was treated." A touch frustrated when she continued to get the stone-faced stare, she tried appealing to his common sense. "Ry - please. This isn't a lifetime commitment. It's just one night. Besides . . . " In an attempt to lighten the situation, she tried a small smile. "If you're going to go through with this family reunion of yours, especially with Jed, you're going to need a good night's rest."

His mouth twisted. "I think I can manage a meeting with one sick old man."

"You don't know Jed. He'd pick a fight with the devil if it meant getting what he wanted. Jed's a survivor."

"Tough and mean. We oughta get along just fine."

"Probably. You remind me of him, in some ways."

"Tough and mean?" he repeated, a touch of amusement in his raised brow.

"Maybe that, too," she teased. "But I was thinking that you're a survivor."

The flint returned to his eyes. "It comes easy when you don't have a choice."

"That can be a good thing, though getting there isn't always."

His hand moved restlessly against Bear's back again and his only response was a tense silence.

"I'll show you to your room," she said finally, awkwardness sounding louder than the things left unsaid. She led him to a room across the hall from hers. "The bathroom's to the left. Kitchen is near the den if you get hungry in the night."

"Can I get a bowl for water for Bear?"

"Oh, sure. We have dog food, too." She told him where all of that was, in lieu of taking him to the kitchen to get it for him. He didn't seem to want help of any kind and to resent having to ask for the help he'd gotten.

"So," she shuffled a little then decided to get out of his way for the night. "You have everything you need?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

Not wanting to leave him yet, but wanting - what? Something she couldn't define and felt silly trying to, she smiled a good night and spun on her heel. He didn't move.

Clasping the doorknob to her room she paused, his dominating presence behind her emanated close and warm. Her hand dropped from the door but she didn't turn around. He was so close she could hear him breathing, felt the rise and fall of his chest; was surrounded by the musky, male scent of him.

Her breath quickened along with the beat of her heart. She wanted him. It was crazy. His heat rose, radiating around her, luring her. Still, she didn't turn; he didn't speak.

But she ached. In a way she hadn't in years, maybe ever. Damn it all. She'd moved back home in large part to redeem her reputation, even her soul. Sleeping with a man she'd met today wasn't going to do much to further her cause.

Behind her, he felt strong, powerful, warm and alive, radiating an earthy, honest magnetism she'd never known before. He said nothing, but stood, in silence, breathing deeply, the heat of his body reaching the cold in hers.

Finally, she turned. He didn't touch her, instead letting his eyes take that role. Now shadowed, mysterious yet open, his gaze spoke what he could not. Slower than a rain-bereft river, he bent low to touch her forehead with a single kiss.

The sweet warmth of it spread like a comforting cocoon down and around her entire body, enveloping her at the same time his arms closed around her. With a sigh, she relaxed against him, like summer grass bending to will of the wind; he held her, rocking her gently with him, holding her close and it was like coming home.

After a time she couldn't have defined she pulled back and looked up at him. Rising up on her tiptoes, she slid her hands to his shoulders and lifted her face to his.

He met her, his mouth firm and welcoming; it was a kiss as much an embrace that lasted the length of a shared breath.

And then there was silence again.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and they stood in the darkened hallway between his room and hers, holding each other for a small eternity, as though yesterday and tomorrow didn't exist.

From the book Seventh Bride, Seventh Brother
By Nicole Foster
Silhouette Special Edition
August 2009
Copyright © August 2009
by Danette Fertig-Thompson and Annette Chartier
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S. A.
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