Free Here Comes the Bride by Laura Drewry Page A

daggers my way this morning.”
    “Don’t count on it,” Gabe snorted. “I’m not exactly the kind of man the ladies in town look for.”
    Tess straightened her shoulders, her hands smoothing the ample fabric of her skirts.
    “I beg to differ, Gabriel. You are precisely the kind of man a lady looks for. This lady, anyway.”
    Heat seared up Gabe’s neck and right through his scalp. How the hell was he supposed to respond? He knew exactly how he’d like to respond to it—how he’d like to respond to her, period—but unless he wanted to find himself married by the day’s end, he’d best keep his mouth shut and his responses to himself.
    Married. A tiny light flickered deep in his heart.

Chapter 8
    The morning could not have been more perfect. Gabe sat beside her in the wagon, his handsome face turning to glance her way when she pretended to look elsewhere. Tess sat as straight as she could considering the fact her bones turned to mush from the heat of his every glance. His thigh brushed hers as the wagon bounced and jerked its way down the road.
    Meadowlarks sang brightly from the high pine branches while squirrels scolded them from below. The sky had never been bluer, the air never more fragrant. Tess could not imagine it being any more glorious.
    “Oh, Gabriel,” she breathed. “Do we have time to stop for a moment? Those wild flowers are too beautiful for words.”
    She’d never felt life embrace her as it did by the creek. The waters of Porter Creek sparkled brighter than diamonds, and all around them life bloomed. Gabe reined the horses in, set the brake, and moved around the wagon to help Tess down. His huge hands spanned her waist, making her dizzy with their touch. He held her gaze, looking right down into the depths of her very soul, holding her there until he fought his way out and pulled back.
    “We only have a minute,” he said gruffly. He turned from her and strode to the creek, his fingers clenched at his sides, his face rigid as stone.
    Tess inhaled deeply and tried to focus. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself literally throwing herself at him. She smiled—maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
    She wandered through the wild flowers, picking one, inhaling its sweet fragrance, tucking it through the teeth of her hair comb and moving on to the next. Gabe stood with his back to her, his trancelike stare fixed on the toe of his boots.
    “Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.”
    Gabe started, lost his balance, and teetered precariously at the creek’s jagged bank. Tess reached out and grasped as much of his jacket as she possibly could. He swayed once, twice, and then regained his balance, bumping right back into Tess. She tripped and went down hard on her backside. Gabe whirled around but wasn’t quick enough to prevent her fall.
    “Tess!” He stood over her, looking flustered at first and then shocked when she burst into a fit of laughter. There she sat in the middle of a patch of fuchsia fireweed—her hair covered in wayward petals, her dress rumpled—and all she could do was laugh until she cried.
    Gabe shook his head slowly, a grin spreading across his face.
    “Well, I’ll be . . . are you hurt?” he asked, crouching down on his haunches.
    “Only my pride.” She laughed, her cheeks burning.
    Their eyes met and held, her laughter dying on her suddenly parched lips. Her heart jumped, skipped, and then stopped all together. God help her if he didn’t . . .
    Gabe’s mouth eased slowly toward hers until their mouths were but a breath apart. He hesitated, wavered and was about to pull back when Tess moved. Her hands reached for his face, gently tugging him down until he could no longer fight. His head dipped, barely brushing his lips against hers.
    The mere whisper of her touch hit him with the force of a firing cannon. He had to have more, to taste her, to feel her against him. His mouth searched hers, caressing it with gentle yet firm strokes. She leaned into him, her own