Free The Gallows' Bounty (West of Second Chances) by Desiree Banks Page B

She braced herself.  Would he end the simple touch with a slimy caress?
    He didn’t.  Rather, his touch offered only firm pressure and gentle indifference.  She decided to broach the subject of her name.
    “Mr. Boden?”
    “Mr. Boden?  We’re married. You can call me Ezra or Boden, whatever suits you.”
    “Well, actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you, too.  Mrs. Roberts has never been my name, and I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”  She waited for his response, half-expecting him to become temperamental at her request.
    “I was under the impression you and Roberts were married,” he asked, puzzlement apparent on his face.
    She blushed to the roots of her hair.  “Brett Roberts and I were never married.  And even if we had been, I’d be Mrs. Boden now anyway.  I’d really appreciate being called Willow.”
    Willow could tell he harbored questions about her, about her life with Roberts, but he held them in check.  For that, she was glad.  She had no desire to discuss her life with anyone at the moment.
    “Willow it is, then,” he conceded.  “I reckon you are Mrs. Boden now, anyway.  I’m not much used to the idea of being a married man.”
    The last part of his statement seemed to preoccupy him, and Willow surmised he found their marriage as strange as she did.
    They resumed their eating and their silence after that.  When the meal was finished, Willow began clearing their plates.  She reached for his, but his large hand settled over hers, stopping her.
    “Do you want more?” she asked, puzzled at his interference.  It was her place to clear the dishes.
    He drew his hand off hers.
    “I’ll be gettin’ those,” he said, rising.  It took him a beat to stretch to his full height.  From where she sat, he made a rather imposing figure.  Once, again her gaze was drawn to his physique.
    He didn’t notice her studying him, so she continued her perusal.  He was broad and muscular and tall.  The type of man she could easily imagine making criminals shake in their boots. He could shatter her.
    “You’ve gone pale again,” he said as he turned from the wash basin.  He held a dish in his hand and dried it with the other.  He grinned. “Dinner that bad?”
    She shook her head.  “You’re a good cook.”
    “That’s one of five meals I can make,” he commented.
    “I’m not feeling so well.” Willow fought heavy eyes and dizziness as she carefully stood.  “I’d like to go back to bed if that’s all right.  I’m weaker than I’d thought.”
    Boden walked over to her, concern in his eyes.  “Would you like a hand back to the bedroom?”
    Willow took a hasty step backward. “No.  I’ll be fine.”
    Her new husband offered his hand.  He took another step forward, and Willow backed away once more.  He raised a hand then, and she threw her arms up to block the blow.  So much for beginning to believe this man was better than the rest.  The Butcher was just a bit more patient.
    The blow never came.  Large hands circled her wrists instead and drew her arms from in front of her face.  The grip was firm yet painless, almost gentle.  Was she imagining things, or did his hands shake a bit?
    “Hear me, Willow,” he stated and waited for her to look at him before continuing, “I will never hit you.”
    The intensity in his eyes nearly convinced her.  He doesn’t think he will hit you. Even he doesn’t know what men are capable of , she thought. Aloud she said, “I believe you think you’ll never hit me.”
    He sighed, evidently catching on to the phrasing of her response.  Despite her distrust, he offered her his arm again.
    Willow’s legs shook, so she looped her arm through his.  A few men had maneuvered her into bad situations by first gaining her trust, then showing their true colors once her defenses were down.  She had been a naïve young woman when she’d last fallen for that trick.
    The gun in her dress pocket slapped her thigh reassuringly.  She