High Plains Wife Read online

  What did Pop think? That he was riding in to see Mariah? Nick toed up in the stirrup, swabbed off the seat and eased into the cold, damp saddle. Nick had a hard time not thinking about her, but that was natural. A man noticed these things about a woman. It didn’t mean anything beyond simple male appreciation of a pretty female. That was all there was to it.

  And appreciate her, he did, but nothing more. He reined the gelding to a stop in the yard just as Mariah climbed from the covered surrey. His pulse didn’t surge. His blood didn’t heat. He didn’t so much as notice the new bonnet, the same blue-gray as her eyes, serviceable but complimentary. Just as he didn’t notice the new cotton dress in a matching shade that hugged her curves to perfection and brought out the beauty in her, so powerful he forgot to breathe.

  “Pa!” Georgie squealed from the front seat, arms out, waiting for him to reach her down. “Come looky and see. I got feathers!”

  Mariah, as if self-conscious, dipped her chin as she swept the rain curtain back on its rod. “You said I could go shopping, and Georgie and I took good advantage of that, didn’t we?”

  “I got pink feathers and purple ones!” Georgie stood up on the floorboards, waving the ends of the magenta colored boa wrapped around her neck and the other one flowing out behind her on the seat.

  “Awful nice feathers you got there. Looks like you two females set me back a few gold eagles.” Nick swept his little girl off the surrey and into his arms, boas and all. “Guess it’s the cost for the privilege of having such beautiful girls in my life.”

  “I got diamonds, too!” George tugged a long strand of paste jewels from beneath her cloak, shining like the genuine article, so pure and flawless, it made his heart cinch up tight.

  Mariah had found a way to make his daughter forget her grief. Momentarily, no doubt, but it was a step. He owed that woman. He hoped she’d cleaned out the dress shop; he wouldn’t mind it a bit when the bill came, no sir. His throat felt tight, making it hard to find the words, so he carried Georgie through the rain and mud to the covered back porch and placed her gently on the top step.

  Gratitude. That’s what he felt for Mariah. A powerful, soul-deep gratitude. That’s why it swept him away so. Why, when he turned to her now, he didn’t notice the rain or the wind or the cold. He saw only her on tiptoe, leaning into the back seat of the surrey, gathering up fallen packages. He could hear the rustle of paper and her muttered frustration.

  “That’s the trouble with shopping,” he began, setting a hand on the small of her back to gently move her aside. “Too many packages to keep track of. That’s where a man comes in handy.”

  “That’s certainly why I married you, since I’m a weak woman, unable to lift so much as a hatbox.” She straightened so the palm of his hand that had been merely skimming her spine now held the dip of her waist and hip.

  “I married you so I could carry your hatboxes and look powerful and masculine.”

  “That is one of your more positive attributes.”

  “Being powerful and masculine?”

  “No. Carrying things for me.” She reached up, as casual as could be, and rubbed a drop of rain off his chin with her gloved fingertip. “You make a pretty good pack mule. Better than my ox, that’s for sure.”

  “Pack mule, huh? Know what I think? I think you like me for more than my hauling abilities.”

  “Truly? And what would those other abilities be? Hitching up the surrey?”

  “I am darn good at that.”

  “Putting sticks of wood in the stove and setting fire to them?”

  He pressed closer, so they were eye-to-eye, nose to nose. “Darn right. I am man. I make fire. I am powerful.”

  “I am woman. I can make fire, too.”

  “Then you’re not impressed by me?”

  “Not one bit.” Liar. He impressed her, every bit of the man he was, strong and protective and tender. His touch at her waist was possessive, a man claiming his woman, and her blood sang with exhilaration.

  His gaze slid to her mouth. “There’s something else I can do well.”

  “Put up the horses?”

  “Huh! You’re about to learn I have many talents.” His hand at her waist dug in, pulling her across the scant inch that separated his body from hers.

  She bumped into him, off balance, but he held her steady, full against the breadth of his chest and the span of his abdomen and the iron-hardness of his thighs. He was hot and hard and male and, when his mouth slanted over hers, possessive.

  Like fire to iron, she molded her lips to his. His kiss was like a brand burning into her flesh, unyielding and overwhelming, and she wanted to push away from him in fear and pull him close in delight. The stroke of his lips against hers was a demand and a plea, a question and an answer and the single most pleasurable sensation she’d ever experienced. It was as if his kiss made her alive, as if she were sleeping beauty and he was breathing life right into her.

  The tip of his tongue swept the seam of her lips, pushing his way into her mouth with a hot, wanton sweep, and she opened to him, melted to him, the way flame altered steel, changing her, transforming her, making her new. She clung to him, breathless and vulnerable and aching for more.

  For the first time she could see what it was between a man and wife. It was a glimpse, a promise of what was to come. More than a kiss, breathless and consuming, it was being entirely alive and wanted.

  He broke away, breathing as hard as she was, his chest rising and falling beneath her fists. She realized she had a tight hold of his shirt and let go. Amazing. She was a little disoriented as she stepped back and fought for balance. Nick’s hands slid to her elbows to help her.

  “Guess I’d best bring in these boxes,” he drawled in that deep baritone that rasped across her nerve endings until she shivered deep. Until desire curled hot and ardent, low in her abdomen.

  “I would appreciate it. After all, I must find as many uses for you as I can.” Feeling new, gathering her courage, she pressed her lips to the side of Nick’s jaw, damp from the rain, before she grabbed her reticule and headed toward the back steps.

  She had every right to kiss him. He was her husband, and look how he’d kissed her. They were married, and he was making steps away from his sorrow over Lida, if that kiss was any indication. Feeling warm and wanted and wonderful, she practically skipped up the back steps and into the warm kitchen, where Georgie twirled in a circle wearing only her chemise. Her dress was crumpled beside her on the floor. The purple boa was wrapped around the top of her head and the other snaked around her waist. “I’m a dancer!”

  “And a good one, too.” Contentment warmed her like soup on a cold day. Look how her life had changed.

  Mariah untied her new bonnet and set her reticule on the table. For the first time in her twenty-eight years she felt as if she’d come home. Home. She had a real home.

  “I’m all dressed up for the ball,” Georgie announced, swirling to a stop and laughing as the feathers swung in an arc around her, still caught in motion.

  “It’s almost time to serve refreshments.” Mariah shrugged out of her shawl. “I’ve heard that when you’re at a ball, you get very fancy refreshments.”

  “You do?” Georgie’s eyes sparkled.

  “First of all, you eat off plates made of gold. Let me go fetch some.” Mariah grabbed a pair of tarnished copper serving plates from the bottom of the hutch. “Is this fancy enough for your ball?”

  “Oh, yes!” Georgie danced in place, feathers flying.

  A gift. That’s what this was. Mariah always prided herself on being an intelligent woman, and despite her thousand flaws, she was smart enough to know when she’d found something precious. Something beyond price. More valuable than all the gold plates in world.

  She grabbed a jar of strawberry preserves from the pantry. She had a few minutes before she had to start supper, and the dishes stacked on the worktable could wait. She had plain sugar cookies to fancy up and ordinary apple juice to transform into champagne
. A little girl to help to dream again.

  She no longer had to be sensible, practical Mariah Scott. She was Mariah Gray. A wife and a mother. A woman who could be loved.

  Why did I do that? Nick had asked for the hundredth time since he’d impulsively pulled Mariah into his arms and kissed her. Not a peck on the cheek or a slight brush of the lips kiss. But a full-fledged, baby-you’re-mine kiss. The kind a man gives a woman when he wants to take her to his bed and keep her there for the rest of his life.

  “Let me clear these plates.” Mariah’s dulcet voice caressed like silk across his skin and she smiled sweetly as if she knew exactly what her effect was on him. “Betsy found the most delicious chocolate cake at the bakery, and she gave me a portion to bring home to all of you.”

  “Cake!” Georgie clapped her hands in anticipation. “It’s good, too. I already had some, and you didn’t, Joey.”

  “Huh! As if I care about some crummy old chocolate cake.” Joey refused to be charmed, even by dessert.

  That’s my boy, Nick silently cheered. I’m on your side. That woman isn’t what she seems. No, sir. He’d been dead wrong to think the poor lonely spinster he’d once been sweet on would be the perfect choice for a convenient marriage.

  “I have to admit those chicken and dumplings were the best I’ve ever had.” Pop pushed back from the table to rub his stomach. “I’m plumb full, but that ain’t gonna stand in my way of dessert.”

  “Good. Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee? I’ll make it twice as strong, just for you.”

  Pop nodded grudgingly. “That would be fine, Miss Mariah.”

  Miss Mariah. Nick’s fork tumbled out of his grip and clattered to a rest on his plate. Miss Mariah?

  “Make enough for me, too, while you’re at it.” Will spoke up sheepishly.

  What was going on? The minute Mariah left for the kitchen, Nick turned to his father. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “She’s a damn fine cook, I’ll grant her that. And with a little learnin’, she’s makin’ the coffee the way I want.” Pop glanced furtively at the door to the kitchen. “She’s lookin’ more pleasant than she used to, don’t you think?”

  “She sure does,” Dakota, who preferred silence as a general way of life, chose this moment to speak. “Marriage becomes her.”

  That was a mile short of the truth. Marriage didn’t become her, it made her. There she was, bustling back in with plates of sliced chocolate cake balanced along one slender arm. She set the plates on the table with the efficiency of a practiced poker dealer.

  She was pretty alive, radiant…and so beautiful she made his teeth ache. She’d done something different with her hair. It wasn’t pulled back so tight it made her eyebrows taut. Nope, her hair was everywhere. Soft, curling coils of it falling into her eyes and around her face and tumbling over her shoulders. Rich, glimmering locks of gold that begged for a man to dig his fingers in and hold tight while he kissed her.

  “And last but not least.” Mariah shimmered as she slipped a plate onto the table in front of him, her skirts rustling and her hair cascading forward to brush against the side of his face.

  Sweet heaven, that felt good. And smelled good, too. The faint scent of lilacs filled his senses. The plate clinked on the table as she released it, and he couldn’t help twisting toward her as she moved away. Leaving him hot and aching and breathing so hard, he’d be less winded if he’d run five miles.

  She eased into the chair at his side, hardly more than a few inches away, but it felt like a mile. A forbidden mile he wasn’t allowed to cross.

  Will started up a discussion about the crops and old man Dayton’s predictions for a dry summer. He and Pop went at it, while youngest brother Dakota added a few stray remarks. Normally that was the kind of conversation Nick didn’t mind partaking in, but not tonight. No, all his brain could think about was the woman at his side.

  “I’m glad you didn’t mind that I went to town today,” she said in a voice softer than he’d ever heard before, more musical. Happy. “Rayna and Betsy and I have been getting together since we graduated from public school. And afterward, I made my last round of deliveries.”

  “Good.” He took a big bite of cake to keep from looking at her. With the way he was feeling, that would bring nothing but trouble down on his head so fast he wouldn’t have time to get out of the way.

  “Betsy is going to be taking over my business.” Mariah began talking and he tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but he couldn’t.

  Was it his fault her voice rose and fell in a way that kept him spellbound? He was a man. He couldn’t help it. The same way he couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. Soft and luscious, with a perfect bow-shaped upper lip and a full, tempting bottom lip. She talked on while he watched.

  And remembered. How her mouth had felt when he’d kissed her. Deep and hard and long. She’d tasted like paradise, soft and gentle and pure pleasure. Hers had been the sort of kiss that got into a man’s blood, so it was a part of him. The kind of kiss that became all he thought about.

  “I’ll be helping her for a while, if that’s all right with you. I won’t shirk my duties here, you have my word on that.” Mariah took a small bite of cake, the tines of the fork caressing her luscious bottom lip just as he wanted to do. Slow and easy.

  If he kissed her, he figured he could make it last all night long if he had to. Just twist his fingers into that wild tangle of her beautiful hair, cradle her jaw in the palms of his hands and claim her mouth with tender caresses and nips, gentle suction and the stroke of his tongue…

  “Is that all right with you?” Her big, gorgeous blue eyes pinned his.

  He read expectation in the slight arch of her brows and a happy glow on her cheeks. Whatever she’d said, it was something she wanted. He had no notion what she’d been saying. “Sure.”

  “I know you’ve got more than enough work to keep you busy day and night until winter, so this is great of you.” Her face softened, becoming so beautiful, she could have been a painting made in brush-strokes of ivory and cream, too lovely to be real.

  What in blazes had he agreed to? With any luck she’d say it again. The trick was to listen to her this time, instead of dreaming of her kiss.

  “When would be best for you?” A lock of hair tumbled against the curve of her face, caressing the cameo skin he was forbidden to.

  The blood in his veins boiled.

  “Tomorrow? Sometime next week? If it’s all right with Will?”

  He blinked, trying to unscramble his brains and cool down. What he needed was to take a plunge in the creek and stay submerged in the cold water for about seven years. “I’ve got a busted water pipe to repair. If all goes well, next week.”

  “This means a lot, Nick. Thank you.”

  “Sure.” Whatever he’d just agreed to, he had an overpowering suspicion he wouldn’t like it. Not one bit.

  That’s what you deserve, Gray, for thinking down south, instead of with your brain. No good ever came from that. Just misery and heartache. He ought to know, having made that colossal mistake once in his life. He knew better, damn it.

  Then Mariah had to go and say something else with that fantastic, mesmerizing mouth of hers. “Rayna’s neighbor’s daughter baby-sits her school-aged son when we have our get-togethers. I left Georgie with her, too. You don’t mind?”

  “Uh…” He searched his mind trying to figure out what to say. He’d concentrated really hard and he heard nothing. Not one word. Just saw the motion of her mouth shaping words and remembered the way her lips had shaped to fit his kiss. Pliable and honey-sweet. “I trust you, Mariah.”

  She beamed, and her happiness glowed from the inside out, radiating through her like a sunbeam, one that always shone, relentlessly beautiful, so bright it hurt a man’s eyes.

  A sensible, practical wife, my foot! This woman looked mesmerizing and vibrant and full of needs. Instead of the lonely spinster dressed in widow’s black, a woman no man had ever courted much
less waltzed with beneath a starry sky, he’d married a siren. A woman so beautiful and alive, she could have her pick of men.

  Just as Lida had.

  The truth bore through his chest, leaving him empty. Leaving him weak. What was he going to do about that? He’d thought he had Mariah figured out, grateful and quiet and shy. But the woman beside him had needs. Needs he didn’t dare try to meet.

  He’d made that mistake, too.

  The cake tasted like sand on his tongue. The conversation around him was just unrecognizable babble. Georgie wanted down, and Joey was first to hop up to help her. He was eager to leave the table and figured out a way to do it. Smart boy.

  Too bad his old man wasn’t as quick on the trigger.

  “I bet your coffee’s done, Jeb.” Mariah swept out of the chair in that dress of hers, the new one he was about to be billed for by the dressmaker, the garment that hugged her generous bosom and her waist and draped over her perfectly curved hips.

  He watched her walk out of the room, her long hair swinging and sway with each step. Making his pulse kick up a notch in reaction.

  You’re a fool if you want her. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with his wife.

  Look where that got him last time. He poked his fork into the cake. Wasn’t hungry. Couldn’t stomach it. He pushed away from the table, but didn’t bolt out of his chair fast enough.

  Mariah marched into the room carrying the enamel pot. The same woman with her no-nonsense gait and her efficient movements and the way she poured coffee like a waitress, the same way she had on the night of the fund-raiser supper.

  She was still the same woman he’d married. She’d bought a new dress and changed her hair. Those were superficial changes, and he was not a superficial man. So why was his blood pulsing wild in his veins? Why did he want to rip that coffeepot out of her hands, wind his fingers through her hair and kiss her until she was breathless and begging for more?

  Because she’d been his first love. He had been eighteen that May, and the innocence of that attraction had been all-consuming. Of watching her across the aisle of the schoolroom when he was supposed to be working math equations on his slate. Of spying on her as she chatted beneath the shade of the tall oaks with her friends Rayna and Betsy while he played baseball with his buddies. And, when school was out and they’d been graduated, of seeing her across the street in town and wanting her with all the foolish, idealistic love in his heart. Naive, he knew now, to think love could be like that. But he’d been young. What did he know of life? Only what he imagined love to be.