High Plains Wife Read online

“Then you’d better be real nice to me, or I just may oversleep now and then.”

  “Be nice to my wife? You can count on it.” His breath shivered across her brow, warm and wonderful, as he guided them in a sweeping, slow three-step. They moved together, toe to toe, thigh to thigh, hip to hip.

  His fingers began a slow, light caress on the back of her neck. Her nerve endings danced. Her skin tingled. Happiness filled her up, making it hard to breathe. This is only the beginning. Of being held by him, of being loved by him. The dependable thud of his heartbeat, the capable steel of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing and the caress of his fingertips against her bare skin overwhelmed her. Made her feel as if she were dancing on clouds. What would tonight be like?

  She was going to find out. She was going to know the intimate touches a man gave his wife. The sweet caresses. The tender joining that would make them one, that would make her desirable and loved.

  She longed to press her lips to his throat and to taste his skin. She couldn’t stop her fingertips from caressing little circles against the curve of his neck and the dip of his shoulder. Tenderness, rare and new, took root in her heart.

  “What did your father say when you told him we were to be married?” she asked, instead. “I notice he didn’t come to stop the ceremony.”

  “He’s going to love you, Mariah, because you’re a fine woman.” Respect boomed in his voice, both affectionate and irrefutable.

  She glowed with it. No man had ever treated her this way. She felt valued and valuable. Just as with his vows today, he’d promised to honor her. To cherish her.

  I will do the same for you. Strong with it, she lifted onto her tiptoes to whisper into his ear so no one else could hear. She chose her words carefully. “Your father doesn’t look happy. He keeps frowning in my direction and shaking his head. Will our marriage cause problems between you two?”

  “Not a chance. Pop and me, we get along.”

  “Your father doesn’t like me. It’s no secret. I haven’t always been nice to him when I came across him in town.”

  “What’s this? The fearsome Spinster Scott admits to being a curmudgeon?”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “Because you deserve it.” He gently forced her gaze to his. “You’ve been working pretty hard to keep everyone at a safe distance. I can understand that. Get too close to someone and they’re just gonna hurt you.”

  “That’s right.”

  She understood. Emotion punched in Nick’s chest. Life taught everyone hard lessons, and the price and pain of them was sometimes hard to accept. He’d been busy with his own problems for so long, he hadn’t given it much thought. But he did now, tucking Mariah to him, bringing her against him so sweet. “It’s easier to be tough and scare folks away. Is that what you do?”

  “Guilty.” He couldn’t see her face, but she sounded as if she were smiling.

  Good. He wanted her to smile. Wanted her to be happy. “Are you going to do that here?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. I might actually be agreeable to you. I know, don’t be surprised. I did promise to be good to you before God and the minister. I’m a woman of my word.”

  “My kind of woman.”

  As if to prove to him she wasn’t so prickly, she cuddled in his arms as the song faded away and the evening crickets picked up the melody. He waited, holding her close, his wife. This woman who felt small in his arms. Fragile.

  If he closed his eyes, he could feel the real Mariah, soft and womanly against him, the pillows of her breasts, the slight curve of her stomach and the length of her thighs fitted against his. She clung to him, and he could feel what was inside her. Maybe because the same emotions lived within him. Loneliness. Heartache. Sadness that had burrowed down deep and lived there year after year until it began to weigh down your soul.

  It will be different this time. Mariah’s different. Marriage with her would not be bleak and painful.

  He was grateful to her. She was tough and strong and independent. She didn’t need anyone, not even him. She was going to make his children’s lives better, and his, too. What a lucky man he was to have such a wife.

  Old man Dayton’s fiddle struck the note of a ballad. Nick shuffled his feet, taking her with him. Her hair against the backs of his knuckles felt like silk. The sweet lilac scent of her filled him up with a strange ease.

  A single yearning tugged deep inside him. Maybe it was the young man still inside him, the one who’d been so taken by her beauty years ago, those soft blond curls rioting around her heart-shaped face, and those blue eyes so big and jewel-like, so sparkling with light. He’d done right by marrying her.

  It was important that he treat her right. “You look mighty pretty in that dress.”

  “It was my mother’s. I found it in her trunk. It was the most cheerful color I could find.” She stiffened in his arms. “It’s too bright, I know, but I didn’t want to get married in my work dresses.”

  “Too bright? No, this is a beautiful color on you. The color matches your eyes.”

  “I feel like a peacock in it, instead of a sensible sparrow.”

  “Think of a humble blue finch, instead.” Kindness warmed his voice.

  And warmed her. Maybe the dress had been the right choice, taken from her mother’s trunk at the last minute, a muted blue-gray spriggled lawn that was no longer in fashion, but pretty enough.

  “You’re not a spinster anymore. So make sure you take some time this week and stop by the dress shop. Get whatever you want, all right? I don’t want to see you in black again.”

  Normally she would take umbrage at that kind of comment, but she could feel his caring like the brush of the twilight’s breeze on her face. It felt good to be cared for. Strange and new and wonderful. She didn’t deserve it, but she was going to do her very best to make this new life work.

  To make Nick fall in love with her…

  It was the middle of the workweek, and the ranchers all had early mornings ahead. Old man Dayton played one last song. The final sweet note signaled the end of the celebration. Folks offered their last round of well wishes as they headed for their wagons. It seemed to take forever, and Mariah caught herself glancing across the yard to find Nick. He’d be helping someone to hitch a team or chatting a few more minutes with Mr. Dayton, or giving his daughter a hug before Will carted her and Joey into the house and out of sight.

  She buzzed with anticipation. Every inch of her felt aware. Alive. Tingling. Breathing in, she could almost remember Nick’s scent, the warmth of his shirt against her cheek, the security of his strong arms holding her… And his kiss. The memory of it shivered through her and the tenderness of it beat within her.

  Across the yard, over the top of old man Dayton’s head, Nick smiled at her. Not a broad, happy grin, and not a casual acknowledgment. But a slow, heated curve of his lips that was a promise of things to come. This was their wedding night. When the guests were gone and the house silent and dark, he would lie down beside her in bed and kiss her. Hold her. Cherish her. She tingled, feeling wanted. Desired.

  Nick turned away, and still she felt it. Like magic bubbling through her veins. She was no longer lonely and unwanted. She was Mariah Gray. Soon, she would be in her husband’s arms, even closer than tonight when they’d waltzed together. And she would know what it was like to be loved and desired. To be held tenderly and sweetly. From this night on, she would not be like the Widow Collins, who had grabbed Mariah’s hand to offer good wishes. Then left alone in her small buggy, heading home where no one waited, no one cared, where no one loved her. That is never going to be me again.

  “How are you doing?” Nick strode out of the shadows, all man and might. “It’s been a heck of a long day. You’ve got to be tired.”

  Tired? So, that’s how he was going to get her into his bed. She blushed, pleased he wanted her. “It is getting late.”

  “Yep. Time to head to bed.”

  Did he feel this, too? This glow of anticipation? Happiness
felt like wine in her blood, and her senses filled when Nick’s broad hand settled in the small of her back, escorting her to the porch and into the house. Yes, he must feel this, too. He wasn’t looking at her, and his jaw was tensed. A muscle jumped along the strong length of his jawbone.

  Every step she took brought her closer to the bedroom. Their bedroom. Through the kitchen. Up the stairs. Anticipation danced through her until she was breathless with it. More than anything she wanted to let him peel off her clothes and cherish her.

  Nick hesitated halfway down the hall. Moonlight slanted through a small window in the end wall, enough to shadow the closed doors to the children’s rooms. It looked as though his brother Will had taken care of everything, and that meant Nick was hers. And she was his.

  He faced her. This was it. She was nervous and thrilled all at once. She was about to learn what it meant to be wanted. To be loved and desired…

  “My brother put your things here.” Nick opened one of the closed doors. “This will be your room.”

  “My room?”

  “It used to be Lida’s. I’m sorry about that. I had her personal things moved out, but there isn’t an extra room in this house or I would have put you there.”

  “But—” She stared at the threshold, unable to see anything but unrelenting darkness. He didn’t want her? “We’re married, and I thought…well, that I’d be…with you.”

  “Mariah.” His deep voice stroked her name with regret. “You know this is a necessary marriage for me.”

  “Of course I do.” She edged against the wall, where the shadows were darker. She didn’t want him to see on her face or in her eyes how she really felt. The tingle of excitement faded. “I didn’t know we would be sleeping alone, that’s all.”

  “Oh.” He sounded relieved, a man still and dark as the shadows surrounding him. “Truth is, I sleep better alone.”

  “I see.” Disappointment wrapped around her like a sheet of ice. Cold to the bone, she shivered. What had she been thinking? It had gone to her head, that Nick Gray had asked her to be his wife. She’d let her imagination run away with her, dreaming of impossible things that could never be. Nick Gray hadn’t wanted her. Who would? She’d spent her adult life trying to drive everyone away, so they wouldn’t see what she was really like inside. So they wouldn’t know she was cold-hearted and inadequate and afraid to let anyone close. She’d done such a good job, she’d convinced everyone how unlovable she was. Even herself. Even Nick.

  Who was she fooling? Only herself. He wasn’t in love with her. He’d rather be alone than to so much as fall asleep beside her. She remembered what those women had said today, what she’d overheard…. Can’t see why any man would marry her. And her father’s words, said so often throughout the years they felt as if they were her own. You’re cold as ice clear through, just like your ma. Nothin’ to love about either one of ya.

  The pretty dress she wore wasn’t going to change that. Or the fact that a circle of gold banded her fourth finger. Or that she had a new last name. She was still plain old Mariah, sensible, practical, useful. A necessary wife, a convenient wife. Not a real one.

  Something broke inside her, like glass shattering into a thousand tiny slivers, embedding deep into her chest. She hurt from the inside out. He doesn’t want me. He’s never going to want me. She had to accept it. She could never let him know how she really felt. How she had hoped…

  Gathering her strength, she took a shallow breath, ignored the cutting pain in her chest the best she could, and faced reality. Let go of her dreams. “The truth is, I sleep better alone, too. This room will do just fine.”

  “You sure?” He looked deeply troubled, staring into the dark threshold as if there would be an answer for him there. Then he lifted one wide shoulder in a resigned shrug. He sounded relieved. “Good night, Mariah.”

  “Good night, Nick.” She could hear the pain in her own words, they were so thin and wavering in the dark she couldn’t believe they were hers. She was strong. She didn’t need anyone. Least of all Nicholas Adam Gray.

  He hesitated. He was so awesome, cloaked in the dark, solitary and strong, a man who didn’t need her. Maybe not anyone. “As long as you’re sure, Mariah. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You haven’t.” She lied. She had her pride. She had her dignity. Most of all, she didn’t want him to change his mind. To take her to his bed out of a sense of duty.

  Or pity.

  “Sleep well,” she said as lightly as she could. “Breakfast will be on the table at four-thirty sharp.”

  “You’re a good woman, Mariah.”

  She wasn’t. She opened her mouth to tell him that, but what was she going to say? Feeling her every flaw, her every failing, she said nothing at all. It took all her strength to march through that dark threshold. All her willpower to close the door and not be sad. To snuff out her disappointment like the flicker of a dying candle’s flame.

  The room felt empty. Vast. Alone. This was her life. Her future.

  It wasn’t different, after all.

  Chapter Seven

  The kitchen was peaceful in the dark hours before sunrise. Mariah’s steps echoed on the wood floor as she put the bacon on to fry, but it wasn’t a lonely feeling. Upstairs, the children were still asleep. If she peeked through the curtains at the window, she could see the glow of light from the distant barn. Nick and his brothers were there, already laboring hard.

  The fire popped in the stove, calling her back to her work. She’d risen, washed and dressed and came down the dark stairs, expecting to find the kitchen cool and equally dark. But Nick had left a lamp burning to greet her. The fire in the stove was crackling merrily. He’d done that for her. Like a good husband.

  Men built fires all the time. It was a courteous act. Nothing more. Nick had vowed to honor her, hadn’t he? Despite his multitude of flaws, he was an honest man. So, honor her, he would. That explained his treatment of her yesterday, after they were married. The touches. The kind words. He was doing his best to take care of her, just as he vowed. But not to love her.

  Her hands trembled as she turned the sizzling strips of bacon. Fine, she could admit it. She was sad about that. But she had to stop secretly wishing for the moon.

  The back door slammed open with a sharp crack. Cool wind skidded across the back of her neck. Her stomach tightened. Was it Nick?

  Jeb Gray, Nick’s father, banged the door closed. The windowpanes rattled. The stove burners clattered. He kicked off his boots with a thud.

  Facing Nick would be easier than his father. Mariah’s stomach tightened as she laid the spatula on the worktable, taking her time. She could feel his dislike. She didn’t need to look up to see the scowl on his face.

  It’s all right. She may be married, but she was still the formidable Mariah Scott. She knew how to handle difficult people. “Would you like some coffee, Jeb? It ought to be done boiling by now.”

  His frown deepened and he hesitated. Did he think she would try to poison him? She didn’t have to wonder just how vehemently he’d disapproved of Nick taking her as his wife.

  “Sit down and I’ll pour it for you.” Annoyed, she grabbed a mug from the shelf. “I’ve got biscuits in the warmer if you’d like.”

  Jeb looked around cautiously, as if he were keeping mindful of the exits so he could make a quick escape, if necessary. He took a step forward, then another. “Guess that’d be all right.”

  She’d serve him and get back to work. It would be faster than having to try to make conversation while he frowned at her. She filled the cup and set it and the biscuits on the corner of the table. He watched her every move, and it bothered her. Was he looking for something to criticize? Her stomach squeezed, as if a belt was cinching up tight around her middle.

  Don’t expect the worst, she told herself. But it was hard not to as Jeb took a sip of coffee, scowled and set it back down.

  “Too weak,” he said. “Next time, better make it twice this strong.”

  No
“please.” No “thank you.” Not even a soft tone in consideration of her feelings. Did he think she didn’t have any? That belt around her stomach tightened another notch.

  The bacon grease was snapping, hot and crackly, and the strips of bacon were toasty brown. Perfect. She forked them onto a plate. One glance at the clock told her she was a few minutes behind. If she put the eggs on now—

  The door boomed open, slamming into the wall. Three sets of boots stomped against the floor. Mariah saw Dakota, the youngest of Nick’s brothers, first. He was dark and lean, and he nodded a silent, intimidating hello. He took a chair at the table with his back to her. Will, Nick’s middle brother, did the same.

  “I’ll have the eggs fried in just a minute.” She hated the apology she heard in her voice. This was now her kitchen, darn it, and she was in charge of it.

  “Smells good, Mariah.” Nick strolled into sight in his stockinged feet. “We sure appreciate all your hard work.”

  He was trying, and she could, too. “When the eggs are done, I’ll make a new pot of coffee. Let me set the pancakes out and you men can get started—”

  “We’ll wait for you.” Nick wrapped a pot holder around the enamel pot and lifted it off the trivet. “You aren’t here to serve us, Mariah. You eat at the table with us, all right?”

  “But the food will start to cool—”

  “That’s what the warmer is for. You’re my wife. You have the place beside me at the table.” He gestured to the two chairs in front of the window, where a gray light glowed on polished oak. “This coffee smells a far sight better than what we’ve been having lately. Go ahead and fix the eggs.”

  He strode away, shoulders squared, all confidence, at ease as he ribbed his brother Will for being too lazy to get his own cup of coffee and poured it for him.

  Nick was helping her? The band tight around her stomach expanded to cinch in her chest, too, making it hard to breathe. She cracked an egg on the edge of the big black fry pan and broke it in two. Over the sizzle of the egg white hitting the hot bacon grease, she remembered what Nick had said to her. We’ve got respect. That’s more than most marriages I can name.