The Rancher Takes A Bride (The Burnett Brides Book 1)

burning building still a frightening image.
    The last few days had been hell. Everywhere he turned, there was Rose, a memory of Rose, a glimpse of Rose, or a thought of Rose. Until he thought he was going to go stark, raving mad.
    The woman filled his mind, his senses, even his sleep, and he didn't know what to do about her. There was only one thing he wanted to do with her, and he couldn't.
    He strolled past the barn, past the bunkhouse, and out into the pasture before he felt they were far enough away from prying ears and away from memories that would haunt him.
    He released his grip and stared at her. "I told you no, you could not be in that play. How did you get this part?"
    "I tried out like everyone else," she smugly replied.
    "You haven't been out of my sight, except for that short amount of time at the dress shop," he insisted.
    She smiled.
    "My mother helped you?" he questioned in disbelief.
    "Don't start blaming Eugenia. I talked her into helping me once we were in town. I've waited my entire life for a chance like this, and you were not about to stop me."
    He grabbed her arm again and pulled her up against him. It was a mistake; he should never have touched her, brought her so close, smelled the lavender in her hair, gazed into emerald eyes that made him burn with unbridled desire.
    He'd tasted the little gypsy woman once. Once was all he needed to purge her from his system. Once had satisfied him for all time.
    Hell! Who was he kidding? Once had only whetted his appetite for more. He wanted to throw her on the ground right now and have his way with her.
    But he couldn't touch her again. To touch her again would only cause him even more guilt, and he was suffering enough.
    "You know I don't want you doing this."
    "Why? What difference does it make to you?"
    "I ... You're under house arrest. I'll have you thrown in jail."
    She rolled her eyes. "Go ahead, cowboy, arrest me. Put me in jail and I promise I'll tell your mother what happened between us," she said, her voice low.
    She meant every word. He knew, with a certainty he found almost frightening, that she would tell Eugenia about their tryst. Yet he didn't want her out of his sight.
    He took a step back, along with a deep breath that he slowly released. He glanced up at the sky and the white cumulus clouds drifting by.
    He'd been holding her hostage, and while she was in his care, he'd had a moment of weakness. He felt lower than a snake and meaner than a rattier. He owed her. But to pay her money would be insulting, and he didn't know quite how to handle this situation. So instead he gave her what she wanted. He glanced back at her, his eyes holding her gaze.
    "Okay, you've got your part in the play. But I don't want you going into town alone. Every day one of the men will drive you, and every night you'll come back to the Bar None. You'll be escorted at all times by one of my men."
    She threw her arms around him, giving him a spontaneous hug that almost completely undid him. What would it be like to receive impulsive affection from Rose every day of his life?
    Suddenly she realized whom she was hugging and she released him, and then took a step back.
    Her chin lifted and she glanced up at him. "I'd say thank you, but then again, who are you to tell me what I can and can't do? I'm warning you, cowboy, back off or you're going to get burned."
    With that announcement, she turned and practically skipped back toward the house.
    Travis scuffed his boot in the dirt, wanting to kick something, anything, to ease this frustration. She was not the perfect woman he was looking for. Yet how could he want her so badly, knowing it was imperfect, yet still hunger for her embrace?
    ***
    Several days later, Rose stepped onto the stage, cleared her throat, and tried her best to relax. She had waited and wanted this day for years, and now, when it was upon her, she only felt anxiety. Pure fear pulsed through her. And to make matters worse, the stage seemed large and bare, making her feel vulnerable.
    "Okay, let's all find our marks and read the scene one more time," yelled the director.
    She picked up her handwritten script, found her mark, and waited for her cue. It was so important that she prove herself capable and worthy of being in this play. Not only to herself, but also to others.
    She was Rosalyn Severin's daughter, and she must do well, even if for no other reason than to honor her mother.
    "Miss Severin, are you with us?" the director yelled.
    Rose glanced up,