Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 19

Edward sat on the edge of his mother’s sofa in the parlor, glaring at her mantel clock as it tick-tocked ever closer toward six o’clock that evening. He’d gotten ready way too early for his supper date with Fiona, and now had too much time on his hands. Time that he would spend second guessing his motives for inviting himself into her home.

His sister and Becky had taken naps that afternoon in Emmie’s old bedroom, allowing him the opportunity to shave and generally wash up after his dip in the Columbia with Fiona. Although not throwing up anymore, Emmie still seemed to tire easily during these first few months of her pregnancy, and he’d been more than happy to have her lie down and not bombard him with more questions regarding his intentions toward his ex-fiancé.

Hell, since that spontaneous kiss in the river, he couldn't get Fiona O'Toole out of his head. How right kissing her had felt, not forced, like before their breakup. She’d tasted like honey and wine, wind and rain.

He’d wanted to devour her, starting at her mouth and working his way all over, until she moaned like she had when he’d used his tongue, and just the thought of that decadent behavior shocked him. Sent him squirming on the sofa and snarling at that tortoise of a mantel clock. Had it stopped its infinitesimal climb till six o’clock?

He stood and paced the room, hands in his pockets as he cast a glance out the front window at the gloomy afternoon. And wondered again when his thoughts about Fiona had changed. While before he’d considered her skinny and plain, with too big a mouth and too small of bosoms, now he stared after her like she was a walking feast and he a starving beggar.

When he’d pulled her out of the river and held her in his embrace, he remembered thinking he could die a happy man, drowning in the depths of those emerald eyes. And when those eyes had swam with tears, he’d felt the answering sting in his own.

Stopping in front of the fire, he picked up the poker and jabbed at the half-engulfed logs with more force than necessary, nodding approvingly when they crumbled. Straightening, he tapped ferociously on the top of the clock with one finger, but it kept up its steady tick-tock, unperturbed. And his thoughts circled back around to why he found Miss Fiona O’Toole suddenly irresistible.

Was it the fact that she was fiercely independent, when all he’d ever looked for was a woman who’d hang on his every word, and wait for him to make all the decisions? Was it her fiery temperament, where she would throw a hat at him or dump his jacket in the mud before stomping away? He found he actually admired some of the stunts she’d pulled at his expense, and that was definitely unusual for him.

He’d hated arguing with his sister, had disliked the idea of doing the same with his future wife, but now the thought of standing toe-to-toe with Fiona, gazing into her snapping green eyes like he had this afternoon, stirred him like arguing never had before.

Or was it the fact that when he’d unceremoniously dumped her, she hadn’t run back to her past, but instead had embraced her future without him in this town? Did he find her sudden maturity an aphrodisiac? He must, for he couldn’t seem to wait for the clock to make its snail-pace way around to the magical hour.

Striding into the kitchen, he checked the door latch, made sure it was locked, then turned and paused, stared around the tidy if out-dated room. But instead of seeing the shadow of his mother at the sink, singing one of the tuneless melodies she often carried in her head, he saw himself, wrapping his arms around a faceless young woman as she pumped water into the basin, capturing her arms and nuzzling her neck till he could kiss her breathless.

She might have been faceless in his mind’s eyes, but her long, curly red hair left her identity without any doubt. And he growled, returned to the parlor and his time sensitive companion.