High Plains Wife Page 11

  “Just where my person is in contact with the chair, but I’ll survive. The real trouble is that I can’t cook the noon meal from here.”

  “That’s not a problem.” He’d make sandwiches and heat up some soup. Even bring Mariah up a tray. He had a hard day of work waiting for him, but it could probably wait another hour. His daughter was safe, and that’s what mattered, cradled on Mariah’s lap, snug in her arms.

  Nick climbed to his feet, his chest strangely tight, Will’s accusation mocking him now. He wasn’t sweet on Mariah, but he did respect her. With everything in him. “Thanks for taking care of my little one.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Mariah smiled, the real Mariah. Not the cold spinster grown hard with loneliness, but the woman with a soft heart and a gentle touch.

  He couldn’t stop the tug of tenderness in his heart as he turned his back and walked away. “Want me to get you anything from the kitchen?”

  “Isn’t that my job?”

  He didn’t answer, disappearing down the hall.

  The flame on the wick flickered in tiny beats of the draft from the window. Rain cuffed the glass and hammered on the siding, and it felt cozy in the small room, warmed by the chimney bricks that made up one wall. The rocker squeaked slightly as Georgie slept, as limp as her rag doll, a welcome heat against Mariah’s chest.

  Her stepdaughter. She couldn’t believe it. She felt as if a light had come on in the dark places of her heart, a warm glow that changed everything. She pressed a kiss into Georgie’s angel-soft hair at the crown of her head, grateful. Completely, thoroughly, to the reaches of her soul grateful.

  She heard the sounds of a home, instead of a house empty and echoing with loneliness. The bang of the oven door in the kitchen below. The slam of the outside door. Men’s voices rumbled pleasantly downstairs, and the sound of Joey’s light, quick step in the hallway. His door slammed shut. No, she wasn’t alone anymore.

  Nick reappeared in the door, carrying a steaming cup in one hand. “Thought you might like some tea.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure.” He was the most thoughtful man she’d ever seen. He set the cup on the windowsill within her easy reach, as if he fetched tea for women every day. “I don’t know how you take it. I put in a little sugar and cream, just in case you like it sweet.”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “It was no trouble. I told you, Mariah. We take care of each other.” He leaned close, the heat of his skin like a whisper against the curve of her face. He dipped lower to press a chaste kiss on his daughter’s brow.

  Something inside Mariah’s chest squeezed tight and hard. It was an emotion too complex to name and too frightening to think about, so she didn’t. She held her breath, instead, willing it to go away as Nick hesitated, a hair’s width away, his gaze dropping to her mouth, her lips. His eyes went completely black, as if he was thinking about kissing her. As if it was what he wanted more than anything.

  A pulse of desire beat low in her abdomen. A curl of desire that made her mouth tingle. She remembered the warm commanding caress of his kiss.

  Maybe there’s a chance. She couldn’t help the wish from rising up out of the shadows of her heart. It was a hope that didn’t dim when Nick left the room. It was a hope that remained strong as the rain fell and the wind moaned and the lamplight flickered.

  Chapter Eight

  Mariah prided herself on being a hard worker, but she’d never been so bone-tired as she felt that evening after supper had been served and eaten. Nick had warned her to cook plenty of food, and even then, she’d run short. Nick and his brothers polished off the entire roast before the platter made it around the table once. Tomorrow, she’d know what to expect.

  But for tonight, even though twilight had come and gone leaving the kitchen in shadows, the stacks of dishes and pots remained. She’d been on her feet since four that morning, and one glance at the clock told her it was a few minutes past seven. Best get to work. Morning would be here before she knew it, and she would do this all over again.

  It wasn’t bad for a first day, she decided as she drained steaming water from the stove reservoir. The work overwhelmed her, and Joey had glared at her over his plate during supper, as if he were hoping that if he stared hard enough she’d disappear. He wasn’t the only one. Nick’s father and both his brothers kept on their best behavior, tensed as if she were waiting to smite them at the least provocation.

  The men were in the parlor now, the scent of tobacco and the rustling of newspapers telling her she wasn’t alone in the house. Deep, male voices rumbled in conversation. Mariah filled the washbasin and grated slivers of soap off the bar of lye into the steaming water.

  She felt Nick’s presence before she heard the pad of his stockinged feet on the polished wood floor. Before she smelled the scent of tobacco from his evening smoke still clinging to his gray flannel work shirt. She shivered from the intimacy in his voice before he spoke.

  “You’re in here alone with the dishes. That’s not fair.”

  “True, but the dishes aren’t complaining about being alone with me. So I won’t complain about them.”

  “Sure, go ahead and joke. Guess you don’t need my help.”

  “You came in to help me?”

  “Sure. I was sitting in my favorite chair with my feet up, reading the newspaper when I heard you drawing water in here. I felt guilty. It ruined my concentration, so I thought, What the hell? I’ll come in here and help her out.”

  “Oh, you think I need help?” She plunked one cup after the other into the dishwater. “I’m not doing a good enough job?”

  She loved the way trouble gleamed in his dark eyes. She loved that he took a dish towel from the stack on the worktable and sidled up to her.

  “I think you’re doing an excellent job.” His elbow brushed the side of her arm. “That’s why I was feeling so damn guilty.”

  “You? Guilty? I don’t believe it. I think you’re the sort of man who doesn’t have a decent bone in his body. Too confident, arrogant, bossy.”

  “Humph.” He shook out the towel with a snap. “I’m tough, too. Be careful, or you’ll know the sting of my whip.”

  “Whip, huh? That’s a dish towel.”

  “Yes, but I know how to use it.”

  She blushed all the way from her collar to the roots of her hair. “You’re speaking about the towel, right?”

  “Of course.” The devil twinkled in his eyes as he flicked the towel again, snapping it crisply in midair. “Hurry up with those dishes, or you’re next.”

  “You don’t scare me one bit. I am also quite skilled with a dish towel.”

  “Sure, at drying dishes with it.”

  “Yes, but also at putting overconfident men in their places with it.”

  He cocked one brow in an unmistakable challenge. “Oh, so you play rough, do you?”

  “I play to win.”

  “So do I.” Nick tossed her a clean dishcloth, folded so neat and perfect—the way Mariah did everything. “Now get to work or know the sting of my wrath.”

  “Hmm, maybe you’ll know the sting of mine.” She eyed him mischievously.

  In the sheen of golden light, she looked amazing.

  Soft wisps of hair had escaped the tight, no-nonsense knot at the back of her head, framing her heart-shaped face like small gossamers of sunlight. On a face made more beautiful by time, he’d swear to it.

  Water splashed as she washed the first cup, thoroughly and quickly, her hands a blur in the sudsy water. Before he could think of something to say, she plopped the cup into the rinse water in the basin in front of him.

  “There. Make yourself useful.” She sounded stern, but she was only feigning it. He saw the corner of her mouth curve.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am. I don’t want to get on your bad side. You could probably whip me in a towel fight.”

  “I’m glad you finally accept my superiority.” The flicker became a beautiful smile as she washed another cup. “Seriously, Nick, you we
re up before I was this morning. You ought to be sitting in the parlor with your feet up, not helping me with my work.”

  “Nope. The newspaper had boring articles in it anyway. I was falling asleep. Helping you is at least keeping me awake.”

  Mariah heard what he didn’t say. He wanted to ease her burdens, lighten her load, just as he’d said. Just as she wanted to do for him. “Really, go sit and talk with your brothers. I’m almost done here.”

  “Sure. Look at that pile of dishes. It’s a good hour’s work, Mariah. I don’t mind one bit. I’d rather spend the time in here with you.”

  “With me? The bossy, independent-minded wife?” The convenient wife.

  “The truth be told, Will took his boots off and his feet stink something fierce. I came in here to escape the odor. You’re doing me a favor by letting me stay.”

  He was lying, and they both knew it, and he was trying to make her laugh, too. Her chest ached with the thoughtfulness of it. Distance stood between them, but something snapped between them, a closeness or a connection, and it felt out of her reach. He wasn’t ready, and she didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them. She didn’t know how a woman loved a man, not just physically, but in all those mysterious ways, using the right touches and words. Because she’d never seen that kind of love up close. Her father had been cruel and her mother brokenhearted.

  Stop thinking about the past. She stared hard at the coffee ring on the cup she held, then dunked it beneath the water and scrubbed hard. “Helping the wife like this isn’t something my father would ever have done.”

  “Your father was a hard man.”

  She scrubbed harder. Damn that stubborn stain. “He was hard to live with.”

  “You stayed with him, Mariah, instead of marrying. I’m not the only man who wanted to come courting, you know.”

  She dropped the cup with a thunk. Startled eyes met his. “That’s not true. You were the only one who ever came calling.”

  “Do you think that no one wanted you, is that it?” Forget the dishes. He reached into the hot water to take her hand. Her skin was wet and hot, her hand so small against his. There were tears in her eyes, shimmering like diamonds in the lamp’s soft glow, and it killed him as surely as a bullet to his chest to see her in pain. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, but it was too late now. “Do you think you stayed a maiden because no man in town wanted to call you his?”

  She dropped her gaze, those golden wisps of hair tumbling forward to shield her face from his scrutiny. Her bottom lip trembled. “After Pa died, nothing changed. No man came to my door to sweep me off my feet.”

  “I did.” His thumb brushed her chin, forcing her gaze to his. The sadness in her eyes shamed him. He’d disliked her, he’d forgotten her, he’d tried to avoid her in town for years, and married her for convenience’s sake. But the truth was, his heart felt as new as dawn’s first light whenever he looked upon her.

  “You didn’t sweep me off my feet, Nick. You offered me an arrangement.”

  “Sure, I was trying to get my laundry done for free, so I proposed.”

  “And I was trying to get a man to feed and shelter me.”

  “And don’t forget clothe you. I did include new dresses in the marriage deal.”

  Tenderly. That’s how he spoke to her. Gently, that’s how he held her hand. The power of it rooted her to the floor as if her shoes had been nailed into the boards. The magic of his kindness felt like a balm to old wounds too numerous to count.

  Old wounds that would not be reopened here. She couldn’t begin to say how much that meant to her. “I know it’s only been one day, but how you treated me… Is this how it’s going to be?”

  “It will get better, I hope. There’s a lot of work to do here, and I’m sorry for that.” Nick’s thumb fit against the cut of her chin, a warm, rough caress that made her eyes water.

  “I don’t mean the work. I don’t mind that. I mean you. You were good to me, Nick. What man offers to dry dishes after a fourteen-hour day in the fields?”

  “One who honors his wife.”

  Tears burned in her eyes. Honor. She didn’t deserve that. “I didn’t do a very good job today. You had to fix the noon meal.” Georgie had cried herself to sleep after supper, and Joey had disappeared to his room with a book. The kitchen was a mess and she’d been far from adequate. “I know I’m not Lida, I wish—”

  She didn’t know what she wished, but she wanted it with her entire being. With all she was. She wanted to be the wife he didn’t have to help with the dishes. She wanted to be the woman he needed. He loved. And it was so far out of her grasp.

  Nick’s forehead touched hers and he met her eye-to-eye, nose to nose, so close his breath was hers. “I thank God that you’re not Lida. Remember that.”

  “She was so perfect. So…everything.” Neat and slim and petite and every hair in place. Mariah would see her in town, in the mercantile an aisle away or walking down the boardwalk to the dressmaker’s. “I know you had to love her very much, and I’m afraid you look at me and see a woman who could never measure up.”

  Nick released her and spun away. “Believe me, you outshine Lida in every way. I love her still, it’s true, but not the way you think. She was the mother of my children, and I will always be grateful to her for that. But between us…”

  “I’m sorry.” Shock sounded heavy in her voice and in her step as she came closer.

  He winced. He couldn’t stand for her to know the truth. He couldn’t speak out against his children’s mother. How else was he going to tell Mariah what her steadfastness meant to him? He didn’t know. Maybe it was foolish to say anything. It was in the past. What was done was done. He ought to leave it behind him. Be glad he had a wife who was happy with a little thoughtfulness. Who believed that his drying the dishes for her was a great thing.

  “I know you still need to grieve Lida. I understand.” Mariah’s fingers slid over the curve of his shoulder, holding on, holding firm.

  She didn’t understand, and he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t bring up the pain again. “Suppose I ought to keep my word and help you with those dishes. I’d hate for you to beat me in a towel fight.”

  “I would win, too.” She leaned against him, her cheek to his shoulder blade, her breasts to his back. Her comfort felt like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s morn.

  A seed of affection took root in his heart. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. A tiny seed that hurt like a burr in his chest. “Let’s get this straight. No woman is going to beat me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You doubt my abilities.”

  “You underestimate mine.” She still clung to him so sweet, providing comfort in her touch, tender and caring and all woman.

  Her breasts pressed against his back felt as hot as the center of a flame. He’d been a long time without a woman, that was all, a man had natural needs. Refusing to let that dominate him, he took a step away from her comfort, from her soft, pleasing woman’s form. He was strong enough not to need any comfort or any woman’s softness in his life.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Mariah was all tenderness, as if she could feel the pain gnawing like a hungry dog at his breastbone. “I thought you were a man of your word.”

  “Now and then, if the mood strikes me.”

  “Are you drying the dishes, or will I have to make you?”

  “Make me.” He turned at the threshold, where the shadows were darkest and the light did not reach. He was nothing but a black form, as powerful as the darkness itself.

  Mariah ached for him. She could feel his sorrow as if it were hers. Feel his loneliness. Feel his need. A need that said, “You’re not alone.”

  She snatched the dish towel from the edge of the worktable. “Remember, you asked for it.”

  “Hey, wait. I’m unarmed.” He held up both hands.

  “Do you think I’ll give a man like you mercy?” She snapped the towel, intentionally falling short of his big, broad ches
t, giving him fair warning of what was to come. “No mercy, Mr. Gray. You don’t deserve it.”

  “Fine attitude when you’re holding the weapon.” He prowled toward her like a panther, ruthless, fearless.

  She flicked the towel hard, sending it straight for the center of his chest. His hand snaked out and tore the towel from her fingers. “Hey! Give that back.”

  “Now who’s the one with the weapon?” Sounding pleased with himself, he circled the table, stalking her, towel pulled back and ready to fire. “And following your example, I intend to show you no mercy.”

  “Not very chivalrous of you.”

  “Do you think I care?” His arm shot out, the towel snapping a foot in front of her.

  She reared back, changing positions. “You’re keeping me away from the other towels.”

  “Very perceptive. At least I married a smart woman.”

  “And I married a ruthless man.”

  “No, a superior one. Admit it.” He flicked the towel again, stopping her in her tracks. “Say it. Nick Gray is a superior man. Say you will rub my tired feet every evening after supper.”

  “I will not!”

  “Now that’s a shame, because I might do the same for you.”

  “I have no wish for you to put your hands on any part of my person.” She knew he was teasing her, darn it, with his words and that damnable towel he’d stolen from her. She made a run toward the worktable and took a playful snap on the upper arm. “Hey!”

  “Oh, sorry. Did I get you?” He didn’t sound sorry at all. Not one bit.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” she vowed, grabbing two towels, one for each hand. “You got the first blow, but I’ll get the rest of them.”

  “Pretty confident for a woman.”

  “It comes from being around you.”

  She hit him square in the jaw, and he retaliated with a snap to her forehead. She cracked him twice, once in the chest and the other in the belly.

  “Ready to surrender?” she challenged, jumping to the side to avoid the smack of his towel. “I’ve got you backed into the corner with no way out.”