Page 8 of The Rancher’s Bride

“I knew who you were.”

“You sure about that?”

My temper snaps tight. I step closer to her. “You really think I ordered a mail-order bride and then forgot her goddamn name?”

She tips her face up and doesn’t step back. “I think you signed up for a wife without considering that an actual woman would show up.”

“You don’t know what I considered.”

“I know you didn’t remember what day I was arriving.”

“Quit saying that.”

“Quit acting like it’s nothing.”

She’s so close to me that I can see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. Her eyes are dark, and her chest rises fast beneath her top.

She’s furious. So am I. And all I want to do is back her against the counter, grab those full hips, and fuck the fight right out of both of us. The thought makes my cock harden so fast it pisses me off all over again.

I step away and hit the edge of the table with my thigh.

“Fuck this.”

I head for the door.

“Where are you going?” she calls after me.

“Outside.”

“We’re in the middle of making dinner.”

“I can’t be in the same room with you right now.”

“Should I leave, then?” she asks, anger and hurt bleeding through the words. “Forget this whole stupid arrangement?”

I stop with my hand on the door. “There’s no train until morning.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

No. It isn’t.

I walk out anyway. The night air is cooler, but not enough to do me any good. I drop onto the porch steps and lean forward, forearms on my knees.

She’s pissed. I’m pissed. The steaks are probably burning, and my cock is hard enough to make my jeans hurt.

This is the first fucking day.

I’ve got no idea how we’re supposed to make it through thirty.

3

SABRINA

That night, I sleep so badly that it barely qualifies as sleep. Every unfamiliar sound pulls me awake. Pipes shift in the walls. Wind brushes the windows. Floorboards creak downstairs. Mostly, though, I lie in the dark thinking about the morning train.

I could pack my things, ask Damian to drive me into town, and leave before this arrangement gets any worse. The thought is extremely tempting around two in the morning, when I’m angry, exhausted, and painfully aware that I crossed half the country for a man who’s irritated by my existence.

But going home wouldn’t solve anything. There’s no job or apartment waiting for me, and I didn’t come here expecting the first day to be easy. More importantly, I’m not someone who quits the moment something becomes uncomfortable.