Hamilton Quince's wife had given her. It was too long and dragged the floor, catching on things. After he'd watched her stumble over it twice, he rose, unsheathed his knife, and crossed the room.
"Stand still," he ordered her. He crouched at her feet and cut the bottom four inches of material from the gown. Her feet were still bare. "Pick your foot up." He wrapped the first foot in the extra length, tying it off above her calf. She stood still, teetering, trying to not touch him.
Deliberately he ran his hand up the inside of her bare leg. A flush stained her cheeks pink, and since he knew it wasn't passion, he figured it for anger and was careful with the knife she'd already wielded once this day. Nevertheless, he explored the smooth flesh that pebbled under his touch, her heat scorching his fingers that itched to climb higher.
"You realize you just destroyed this dress, so I will not be able to return it." Her anxious words warned him that this was serious. "I don't want to owe the Quinces anything. Now I do."
He ignored her distress and set her first foot in place to lift the other. When he finished, she had makeshift socks protecting her feet from the cold floor.
He stood, slid his knife home and looked across at the babies. They waved at him, almost making him smile. "You cook and clean." His voice thickened, as had his cock, while he'd knelt on the floor touching what he wouldn't let himself have yet. He turned away, controlling his lust and told her gruffly, "I'll worry about the Quince woman's dress."
She answered sharply for his ears only. "Cooking and cleaning are extra duty. You brought me here to be a broodmare. That's what you'll get. Anything else will cost you."
He turned back and gripped her chin, forcing her head up so he could stare into her eyes. "Breed true, then," as though by his ordering it, her womb would assemble a baby with the features needed to please the white Texas citizenry.
"Sometimes I wonder how it is that men, being as stupid as they are, have come to be in charge."
The woman had to have the last word, but she didn't shift away from him, and he claimed that as victory. Whether she knew it or not, she hadn't feared sassing him.
His grip changed to a caress, and he stroked her jaw. "We're bigger than you, Julie.
That's why a beautiful woman has to find a man to take care of her. Otherwise the wolves will take her down."
"Who protects her from her protector?" she asked bitterly.
He dropped his hand and stepped back. "Maybe you'll decide that you can trust him,"
he murmured the words low enough to keep them private between them.
He had no idea what he was talking about. The words were not the rehearsed thoughts he'd mulled on while he was away from her. Being near her had a way of knocking sense from his head.
With no explanation, awkwardly he pulled out the comb he'd carved from wood that morning. When he handed it to her, she hesitated before she accepted the gift and tucked it into her pocket on her retreat to the cold bedroom she'd staked out for herself and the babies.
Grady watched her leave the room and wondered how long he'd be able to restrain himself from claiming her. He wanted to bury his face in the soft waves that now touched her shoulders. He lay awake that night, imagining the silken strands brushing across his body and used his hand to get release.
At breakfast the next morning, he caught the other men staring at the rich auburn locks and jealously wished he'd never told her to leave it down. He didn't want to share that part of her beauty with anyone.
* * * *
It was late autumn. The snow that had fallen the night of her arrival marked the beginning of the new season. Grady rode out every day and let Julie have the ranch house to herself. Julie served breakfast for the men and then retreated to the other side of the room where she fed the twins as she hummed softly to them. Even the clink of cutlery against plates stopped as they listened to the woman's
"Stand still," he ordered her. He crouched at her feet and cut the bottom four inches of material from the gown. Her feet were still bare. "Pick your foot up." He wrapped the first foot in the extra length, tying it off above her calf. She stood still, teetering, trying to not touch him.
Deliberately he ran his hand up the inside of her bare leg. A flush stained her cheeks pink, and since he knew it wasn't passion, he figured it for anger and was careful with the knife she'd already wielded once this day. Nevertheless, he explored the smooth flesh that pebbled under his touch, her heat scorching his fingers that itched to climb higher.
"You realize you just destroyed this dress, so I will not be able to return it." Her anxious words warned him that this was serious. "I don't want to owe the Quinces anything. Now I do."
He ignored her distress and set her first foot in place to lift the other. When he finished, she had makeshift socks protecting her feet from the cold floor.
He stood, slid his knife home and looked across at the babies. They waved at him, almost making him smile. "You cook and clean." His voice thickened, as had his cock, while he'd knelt on the floor touching what he wouldn't let himself have yet. He turned away, controlling his lust and told her gruffly, "I'll worry about the Quince woman's dress."
She answered sharply for his ears only. "Cooking and cleaning are extra duty. You brought me here to be a broodmare. That's what you'll get. Anything else will cost you."
He turned back and gripped her chin, forcing her head up so he could stare into her eyes. "Breed true, then," as though by his ordering it, her womb would assemble a baby with the features needed to please the white Texas citizenry.
"Sometimes I wonder how it is that men, being as stupid as they are, have come to be in charge."
The woman had to have the last word, but she didn't shift away from him, and he claimed that as victory. Whether she knew it or not, she hadn't feared sassing him.
His grip changed to a caress, and he stroked her jaw. "We're bigger than you, Julie.
That's why a beautiful woman has to find a man to take care of her. Otherwise the wolves will take her down."
"Who protects her from her protector?" she asked bitterly.
He dropped his hand and stepped back. "Maybe you'll decide that you can trust him,"
he murmured the words low enough to keep them private between them.
He had no idea what he was talking about. The words were not the rehearsed thoughts he'd mulled on while he was away from her. Being near her had a way of knocking sense from his head.
With no explanation, awkwardly he pulled out the comb he'd carved from wood that morning. When he handed it to her, she hesitated before she accepted the gift and tucked it into her pocket on her retreat to the cold bedroom she'd staked out for herself and the babies.
Grady watched her leave the room and wondered how long he'd be able to restrain himself from claiming her. He wanted to bury his face in the soft waves that now touched her shoulders. He lay awake that night, imagining the silken strands brushing across his body and used his hand to get release.
At breakfast the next morning, he caught the other men staring at the rich auburn locks and jealously wished he'd never told her to leave it down. He didn't want to share that part of her beauty with anyone.
* * * *
It was late autumn. The snow that had fallen the night of her arrival marked the beginning of the new season. Grady rode out every day and let Julie have the ranch house to herself. Julie served breakfast for the men and then retreated to the other side of the room where she fed the twins as she hummed softly to them. Even the clink of cutlery against plates stopped as they listened to the woman's
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