The Courtship Of Izzy Mccree
10th ANNIVERSARYThe Way To A Woman's Heart…Isabella McCree wanted to be loved. So she traded her lonely Eastern existence for life in a mountain cabin with her rugged mail-order husband and his brood. But could she ever put her haunting secrets behind her and become a "real" wife? Between raising four children and training wild stallions, Matt Prescott had no idea how to court a woman again.Especially not a shy beauty like Isabella. Yet when he looked into her blue-green eyes he saw strength - as well as a pain that mirrored his own - and knew he'd somehow find the way to her heart.
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10>TH ANNIVERSARY
Special thanks to our well-wishers, who have contributed their congratulations and support.
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For Isabella Mary Shrader And her proud parents, Mary and Dennis Her sisters Caitlin Bea, Ally and Taylor And big brother Bret
And for Tom For a lifetime of courtship.
Matt dragged her closer.
“I can’t give you pretty things, Isabella.”
All she could feel was his breath, hot against her temple. And the wild stutter of her heartbeat as those big, work-worn fingers kneaded her arms, her shoulders, then began trailing fire along her spine.
“I don’t need things, Matthew.” This is what I need. The feel of strong arms surrounding me, soothing me. Protecting me. Arousing me.
She’d never known such a rush of feelings. Intense, seething emotions. Fire. Ice. Need. All rushing through her system, leaving her stunned and breathless.
He lowered his head until his lips were pressed to a tangle of hair at her temple. “I’m no good with pretty words either, Isabella.”
She shivered. “I don’t…need the words.”
As he continued to torment her by keeping his mouth just inches from hers, she said softly, “This is what I want. Just this.” She couldn’t bear to wait another moment. Standing on tiptoe, she brought her mouth to his.
“Matthew. Kiss me. Please kiss me.”
The California-Nevada border, 1880
“How soon, driver?” Izzy poked her head out the window of the stage and shouted above the pounding hooves and creaking harness. The rushing wind tugged at her hat and would have whipped it loose if she hadn’t clamped a hand to it.
“I told ye. The name’s Boone. And ye’re already on Prescott land, ma’am.”
“I am?”
“Yes’m. Been on it for the last couple of miles. Should see the ranch house just over this next rise.”
Izzy dropped back to the hard seat and stared out the side window. Who would have thought? All this land belonged to Matthew Prescott. Though the countryside looked forbidding, with rocky fields climbing upward to high, snow-covered peaks, Izzy couldn’t help but be impressed. Her husband-to-be owned all this. She clasped her hands to her cheeks, which had suddenly become flushed.
Working quickly, she opened her satchel and removed a pair of shoes. They’d been too fine to wear, so she’d carried them all the way from Pennsylvania. Over three thousand miles she’d carried them. On the train. On a succession of stagecoaches. Handling them like a treasure. Though her traveling gown was soiled and coated with a layer of dust, and her hair beneath the fussy bonnet was windblown and tangled, her shoes were polished to a high shine.
She removed her scuffed boots and stuffed them into the satchel, then slipped her feet into the shoes and carefully laced them. And all the while she rehearsed the lines she’d been preparing.
Isabella McCree. Member of the First Pennsylvania Congregation. So pleased to make your acquaintance.
