Page 86 of If the Boot Fits

Samantha sprinted past the men and out into the sunshine. She held up a hand to shade her eyes as she scanned the riders for the one she sought. One wore a skirt. Ida Mae. But the men all looked the same from this distance.

Then one horse broke away from the rest, his rider’s form lovingly familiar.

“Asher!” Samantha hitched up her skirt and ran to meet him, her heart so full her chest throbbed.

When he reached the yard, he reined in his mount, leapt from the saddle, then swept her completely off her feet. His arms circled her back and pressed her flush against him. Samantha laid her palms atop his shoulders, laughing and crying at the same time.

Thank God Almighty. Asher was alive. Strong. Healthy. Covered in dust and bruises, but beautifully, wonderfully, alive.

His grip loosened slightly, and she slid down Asher’s chest until her feet found purchase on the ground. The moment they did, a new light-headedness assailed her, for Asher’s lips had found hers. His hands stroked her back, his touch the tiniest bit desperate and entirely thrilling. She rose up to meet him, giving in to her own desperation as she clung to him, and kissed him with all the love flooding her heart.

As his kiss gentled and slowed, her hands moved from his shoulders to cup his bruised face with tender delicacy. She leaned back just enough to meet his gaze as her thumbs feathered over his stubbled cheeks.

“I love you, Asher.”

His mouth curved in a saucy half grin. “It’s about time you admitted it.”

She laughed, the release glorious.

He kissed her again, a tender meeting of lips that made her belly ache from the sweetness of it. It ended far too soon, but perhaps that was for the best, seeing as how they weren’t alone.

“Duke Kendrick is gone, Samantha.” Asher’s serious words penetrated the passion-induced fog swirling around her with razor-sharp precision. “He’ll never hurt you or your family again.”

She pressed her cheek to his chest. It seemed odd to mourn a man who had tried to kill her, but Duke had been part of her life from the day she was born. It wasn’t so much losing him that hurt as losing the idea of who she’d once believed him to be. How much worse would it be for Clint?

“Martin’s fetching fresh horses. He’ll ride back to the line shack with a spare mount so the sheriff can take the body to the undertaker.” Asher’s fingers ran up and down her back, soothing away the ugly image as soon as it rose in her mind. He fell silent for a long minute, but his hands kept rubbing, comforting, easing her distress, and hopefully easing some of his own in the process. “How’s your father?”

She leaned back in his arms and peered up into a face filled with empathy. He’d lost his own father, after all.

“Dr. Abbott expects him to recover, as long as infection doesn’t set in.”

Asher squeezed her against his side. “That’s good.”

“Maybe we should have Dr. Abbott take a look at you, too, while he’s here. You look pretty banged up.”

“I’m all right. Just a few scrapes and bruises. Martin stopped the damage from being any worse.”

Samantha heard what he wasn’t saying. About how close he’d come to serious injury or perhaps death. She hugged his waist and thanked the Almighty for keeping him safe. “God bless Martin.”

“I pray he does.”

The clanging of a dinner bell echoed across the yard. “Breakfast is ready,” Mrs. Stewart called. “Come and get it!”

Asher looked down at Samantha, and her stomach fluttered at the love in his gaze. “I’ve got all I’ll ever need right here.”

She pressed a hand to his chest, a thrill coursing through her at the powerful thump of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. “Me too.”

38

TWO WEEKS LATER

Asher drew the team to a halt in front of the two-story ranch house at the Three Cedars. Perspiration slickened his hands where they gripped the reins. Get ahold of yourself, man. It’s not like you haven’t been here a half-dozen times before. Yet tonight was different. There were no villains to thwart, no protective details to man, no highfalutin balls to sneak into in search of evidence of supposed wrongdoing. He’d not be hiding tonight. Asher swallowed, his Adam’s apple bumping against his too-tight collar.

“Relax, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine.” Mama Bess touched his arm, her smile slowing the stampede of panic bounding through his chest. “The Lord brought you and Samantha together. Trust him to work out the details.” She gave his arm a pat, then turned to collect the rectangular basket she’d brought, a basket heaped with potatoes.

Why she thought she needed to bring a bunch of raw potatoes to a family dinner, he’d never understand. She’d insisted it would be rude to show up empty-handed, though, and he’d been too consumed by imagining all the various ways this evening could go horribly wrong to argue with her.

Mama Bess twisted to call to the boys in the back of the wagon. “Jonathan, be a gentleman and help me down, son.”