Free Promises Reveal by Sarah McCarty Page B

don’t want fair in the bedroom?”
    “I want fair everywhere in this marriage.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind.”
    “Why do you need to keep it in mind?”
    “Because I’m the man, and in case you were wondering, I have every intention of wearing the pants in our relationship.”
    “And you think pants equate to power?”
    “Well, that and a couple other things.”
    She stepped back, bumped the table, muttered something under her breath, and sidestepped free. “Which would be?”
    “About six inches of height and about ninety pounds of muscle.”
    Grabbing her satchel, she headed down the hall. “I’ll try to remember to be impressed.”
    She’d try to remember. Smiling and shaking his head, he followed. Evie was a tall woman but he was taller. Matching her angry strides was no strain. When she got to the bedroom door, he reached around and took the satchel from her hand, trapping her between the jamb and his body. Her breath caught. Nerves or interest? It was hard to tell with Evie. She was a bundle of nervous energy.
    “I’ll take that for you.”
    “I don’t need you to take it for me.”
    “I’m your husband, Evie. It’s my job to stand between you and anything unpleasant.”
    “Carrying my satchel is not unpleasant. It’s a necessity.”
    He opened the door. “One I can help you with.”
    She didn’t immediately step into the room. He supposed that might have to do with the big bed dominating the space. The bed had been an eye-catcher when he’d seen it piled on the wagon of a busted farmer heading back East. The farmer had been focused on heading home with less stress on his team; Brad had been focused on his wedding night with Evie. Both had been satisfied with the deal.
    “Something wrong?”
    Dragging her gaze away from the ornate posts of the canopy, she muttered, “There’s only one bed.”
    Evie never muttered. “How many were you expecting?”
    Her intricate bun brushed his chest, releasing the scent of wildflowers into the air as she looked over her shoulder.
    “Two, of course.”
    Of course. “Well, we’ll be bunking down in one.”
    Half turning, she frowned up at him. “Were you always a preacher?”
    Dangerous territory. “What makes you ask?”
    “Just curious.”
    Because of his phrasing. Normally he was better at covering that, but because he was thinking about the two of them in that big bed, he’d made a stupid mistake. “A preacher meets all kinds of people from a lot of different backgrounds. You pick up sayings.”
    “I guess you would.”
    She still hadn’t moved into the room, and she was still staring at that big bed like it had teeth and might bite. “Is this Elijah and Amy’s bedroom?”
    Translated, she wanted to know if that was Elijah and Amy’s bed. The one Amy had died in. The one that had put an end to Elijah’s reformation. “Yeah, but I bought the bed this week.”
    “Good.”
    Her fingers on the dark wood were long and delicate, the fingernails pale pink and well shaped. He hadn’t noticed her hands before. It suddenly seemed like a huge thing not to have noticed, leaving him to wonder what else he hadn’t noticed about her.
    “The day is not getting any longer.”
    Her grip on the doorjamb tightened. “I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”
    “Throwing down the gauntlet?”
    She half turned. “I might as well start, as I mean to go on.”
    He slid into the space between her and the jamb, blocking her instinctive move to escape with the satchel, excitement humming under his skin at the challenge. “On that I completely agree.”
    The backward step she took brought her flush against the jamb. Her tongue flicked nervously over her lips. The lower one gleamed with residual moisture, inviting the brush of his mouth, promising the softness of her kiss. He stepped in, bringing them a fraction closer. The folds of her skirts wrapped around the heavy cotton of his pants. Her head tipped back and connected with the hard wood with a soft thunk. A