The Edge of Misery: The Mitchel Brothers Series Book Two

18

"I like when you call me that," she whispered.

"I'll do it more often then," he quietly promised. Then after seeing Wren shiver, he asked, "You ready to go inside where it's warmer? I don't want you catching a chill."

Heaving a sigh, Wren straightened and situated her crutches under her arms. "If we must. But if you end up runnin' to the outhouse tonight, don't forget I warned you."

"It can't be that bad," he said, waiting for her at the doorway.

"You haven't tried it yet."

In the mood to bedevil his wife and put another smile on her face before they left the barn—Declan blocked her from exiting the room as she neared, refusing to move even when the hem of her skirts brushed across the tops of his worn boots.

Pointing to an imaginary spot on her bodice, he drawled, "What's that right there?"

She tipped her chin down to see just as he softly swiped his finger up and bumped the underside of her nose, drawing forth a startled giggle that mixed with his deeper chuckle, and as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, Declan gripped the doorframe and swooped in for a kiss.

Their bodies leaned toward each other of their own accord, his chest brushing against her bosom with every heaving breath, fighting the pull of his arms and resistance of his fingers clamped on the outer edge even as Wren abandoned her crutches.

Snaking her left arm around his waist, she knocked the hat from his head, then buried her right in his hair, pulling him closer and quickening his blood as she transformed his flirtatious melding of lips into a deep, hungry kiss.

Declan's mouth slanted over hers, again and again, claiming with brazen, unquenchable need one minute, then becoming tender and worshipful the next, straining his self-control to its limits as he clenched the wood casing hard enough that several splinters slipped beneath his nails.

His heart thundered at a frantic pace, his stomach fluttered and twisted as though millions of butterflies swarmed inside of it, and he was a blink away from taking her in his arms when Eldon suddenly appeared behind him and chirped in seven-year-old disgust, "You two ever comin' to eat?"

Wren jumped, breaking the kiss as she tightened her hold around Declan's waist before mumbling, "Yep."

"Just give us a second," Declan huskily murmured, forcing his fingers to unclench from around the doorframe and lower to his side.

Eldon lingered for a moment, then heaved an overly dramatic sigh, shuffled to the barn doors, folded his arms across his narrow chest, and hollered, "I'LL WAIT FOR YA RIGHT HERE."

"Sound's like he doesn't trust us," Declan softly chuckled.

"I dropped my crutches," Wren grumbled as she braced herself against the door and bent to retrieve the one on the left.

"I'll get them," Declan frowned as he picked up the right, unsure if he'd detected a sharp tone to her words or if it'd been his imagination.

"It's fine, I—" she began, staring at the crutch in his hand as though it would jump out and bite her before taking it and muttering, "Thank you."

'There it is again,' Declan thought, certain that time—though what had happened in the last few minutes to have put it there—

He bit back a chuckle and shook his head. Dinner.

Stepping aside to let her pass once situated on her crutches, Declan shoved his hands in his pockets and studied his wife from the corner of his eye as they walked to meet Eldon, silently vowing he'd choke down the whole pot if he had to.