Marry Me Page 21

  It had never occurred to her to move. Her limbs were no longer under her control. Her body, her scandalized mind, he’d stolen them both for his own and played them to his will.

  And then his mouth came down again, harder this time. He held himself still for a moment, giving her time to adjust to the feel of him there, scalding heat, moist softness, wicked bliss.

  She couldn’t see him. Her skirts and petticoats frothed around him, hiding him from view. The rest of the room was dark, and blood roared in her ears, muting the sound of her cries. It was as if all her other senses had dimmed, subverting to the sharp and crucial pleasure of the flesh.

  She couldn’t move. Was afraid to in case it might push him away. Might ruin this piercing delight, or might prove too much, driving her to someplace from which she might never recover.

  But even in that stillness she soon felt herself pulsing up, the physical sensation growing stronger, richer, more insistent. And when his tongue joined in the play, one long slow stroke flat against her, she hurtled over the edge, into a quick, shuddering peak where her nerves showered pleasure through every corner of her body.

  She was still dazed, drifting down into limp and sated relaxation, when he suddenly jerked away, yanking her skirts down to cover her. He stood by the bed, as unsmiling and intimidating as the night they’d first met.

  “There. We’re even,” he said, the words holding a cruel edge.

  His mouth was wet; it gleamed when he spoke, reflecting a small wash of moonlight. From her, she thought, instantly and acutely embarrassed; she could feel the dampness between her thighs.

  He whipped his pillow and blanket off the bed with violence that left a breeze in its wake, tossed them on the floor, and threw himself down with careless disregard for his bones.

  The silence flattened, drew into a vacuum that seemed to swallow all sound leaving a dense, complete quiet, stripped of familiar, comforting nighttime rustles. He might not have even been in the room; though she strained for the sound, even evidence of his breathing eluded her.

  It’s over, she thought, and squeezed her eyes shut against the night.

  It’s over, and what a fool I was to believe it might ever have begun.

  Chapter 16

  The next three days seemed to take three years; long, grueling, joyless years.

  Who’d have thought Jake would be so good at pretending? He threw himself into his role—ensuring, Emily figured, that nothing would delay Kate’s departure a second longer than necessary. But he played the besotted husband so well that even she, who knew better, almost believed. Except each time he looked at her, there was nothing in his eyes. Even the anger, even the grief there when she’d met him would have seemed better now than his blank indifference.

  He touched her often. Outwardly husbandly, affectionate caresses with hands that were completely cold. Touched her the same impersonal way he did the metal bars and gears of his press, a necessary contact to be neither enjoyed nor detested.

  Emily knew she pretended every bit as well. Her smile grew brighter, her conversation more lively, her glances at Jake more lingering. And if it went on one more day she was going to collapse into a screaming heap. On her birthday, a cheerless, gray day more suited to October than July, Emily plastered on a smile the size of Montana and it flickered only slightly when, beneath Kate’s assessing gaze, Jake kissed her, his lips warm and firm and hateful in the utter lack of emotion behind them.

  Emily counted each day until Kate’s departure, certain that anything had to be better than this dreadful limbo, her nerves stretched as thin as cheap thread. But when she finally stood outside the shack with Kate in her beautiful green traveling suit and piles of luggage before her, Jake hovering silently at her back, and realized it would all soon be over, a hollow ache began in her chest that seemed to have every intention of staying around for a while.

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to take you on into town?” Emily asked around the lump in her throat. “It doesn’t seem right to send you on your way alone.”

  “Oh heavens,” Kate said, her emerald hat feather bobbing. “I’ve no intention of making a scene right there at the coach stop. I’ve never appeared in public with red eyes and I’m not about to start now. No, I’d rather say my goodbyes here and be done with it.”

  “I suppose so.” For the first time Emily wondered if perhaps she should return to Philadelphia with Kate after all. Certainly there was nothing for her here except a few memories both piercingly sweet and painful at the same time. And Kate, her chin set at a brave angle, would be alone for the first time in her life.

  “Promise me,” Emily said. “Promise me you won’t marry Mr. Ruckman just because you need someone to fuss over.”

  Kate frowned. “I wouldn’t—” Then she sighed and gave in. “All right, I admit it. I would have married him for you, and been glad of it, too. Not to mention right to do it. But I won’t do it just for my sake.”

  “Do you promise me?”

  “Yes,” Kate said, exasperated. “I promise.”

  Emily’s tension eased one notch. Hardly noticeable as there was plenty left.

  “Kate, what are you going to do?”

  A shadow grayed the brilliant blue of her eyes. “Oh, I’m not sure,” she said, injecting an airy note that fooled no one. “The doctor did leave me some small resources. It won’t support me forever, but it’ll keep body together for a while.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll open a dress shop.”

  “If you don’t fall madly in love and get married first,” Emily said. “And maybe you’ll even wait for Anthea and me to get there for the wedding.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ve had quite enough of marriage for one lifetime, I think.”

  “Oh Kate, don’t say that. You should have a wild, passionate affair at the very least.”

  “Emily!” she exclaimed with the appropriate shock. And then “Hmm” as her expression grew thoughtful.

  “Art’s here,” Jake said softly, nodding at the old red farm wagon that served as Art’s rolling studio. “He even took all that junk out of the back for you.”

  “But of course.” As if knowing that one more look at her sister would start her dripping, Kate switched to pondering Art on his wagon. “Maybe I’ll get myself a monkey,” she mused.

  “Kate, why didn’t you ever leave him? I always wondered,” Emily asked, figuring she might never have another opportunity. “We could have gone to stay with Gabriel and Anthea. You know we could have.”

  “Me, living in Colorado? Can you imagine? The barbed wire would have snagged all my stockings in no time.” Then she sobered. “I made an agreement, Emily. There were no surprises. The doctor held to his half of the agreement; I was obligated to live up to mine.” She touched Emily’s cheek. “And, given the same circumstances, I would do it again.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know if you realize how much I…” She searched for the right words. How do you thank someone who gave up fifteen years of her life for you?

  “Emily, there’s no thanks to be given. We are family. Always. You’d do the same for me and I well know it. It was only an accident of birth that gave me the privilege.”

  “Darn it.” Emily grabbed her in a fierce hug that made Kate clamp her hand on the top of her head to keep from disarranging her hat. Kate wrapped her arms around her and squeezed until tears threatened.

  “Let me go, now. I’ve spent some time on this coiffure—who knows who might be on the train?—and I’d be most put out if you ruined all my work.”

  “All right. Travel safe.” She released her sister, watching while Jake handed her formally up to the narrow bench next to Art, where Kate fluffed her skirts and settled herself as gracefully as if taking her seat at the opera. Art chirruped to his old gray mare, which leaned forward and plodded toward town.

  Emily waved. “Promise me,” she shouted, “that you’ll do exactly what you wish for the next month, and you won’t give practicality a single thought. One gran
d adventure. I insist.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Kate called behind her, waving so hard her feather whipped through the air as if the wind blew ten times harder than it did.

  “Promise!”

  “I promise.” The breeze caught her resigned laughter, carried it behind her after the wagon faded into the distance.

  “Well.” Emily folded her hands before her and turned to face…she wasn’t even sure what to call him anymore. Were they back to Mr. Sullivan? “I’d better pack.”

  Jake studied her face warily. He’d been prepared for her to burst into tears any second. Her sister was gone, she’d lost her gamble with him, and that night…He shied away from the thought. That night was more than he could think about at the moment for more reasons than one. But she faced him with her eyes perfectly dry, her smile wide and pretty. And utterly false; he knew her well enough to discern the difference now between the ever-present smile that meant no more than one painted on a china doll and the true one, the rarer one, that started in her heart and bloomed outward.

  “I’ll help you pack.”

  “Can’t wait to get rid of me?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Though perhaps true all the same. Better she leave while the anger at what she’d done was keen. It would make it easier, allowing him to welcome the solitude that must be his life.

  One eyebrow lifted. “Didn’t you?”

  The corners of her mouth trembled. The motion caught his attention, tempted him to kiss her right there. He knew the feel of her now, and the taste, and despite the fact that he’d have given much for that blazing, agonizing night never to have happened, he wanted her. Even more now, though he wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  “All right then. Holler when you’re ready.”

  Her words were clipped. “It won’t take long.”

  It startled Emily to realize, as she sorted through the items, how few things she could claim as her own. So many felt like hers: the table she’d oiled and scrubbed until it gleamed, the mattress she’d restuffed, the iron skillet she’d rubbed with sand for nearly an hour before deeming it ready for her corn-bread.

  But they weren’t hers. They belonged to another life, his life, and he undoubtedly had far more memories of them than she did. Memories of his wife, who’d owned them first, owned him first, body and soul, and obviously always would.

  Had it been wrong of her to try and drag him back to life? She’d no more been able to leave him alone in his grief than she could pass a man bleeding in the street and not be driven to dress his wounds.

  But sometimes one simply had to accept the inevitable and move on. Perhaps with regret, and certainly having learned from the experience, but it did no good to cling to things one could never change.

  She bent down, grabbed the handle of a suitcase in each hand, and headed out the door, nearly colliding with Jake on the way.

  “Oh. There you are.”

  “Couldn’t wait any longer, huh?” she asked. The words had bite, but she didn’t feel much like softening them.

  He looked at her suitcases, the one small crate she’d already dragged outside. “Is that it? I thought you had more stuff.”

  “New life, light baggage.” She shrugged. “Montana was hard on my wardrobe. Isn’t worth dragging it along. You’ve quite a nice rag collection, if you want them.”

  “You can’t chance bumping into Kate. If you want to stay a few hours—”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. The thought of staying there one more minute with his anger and regret was unbearable. “No, it’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t be here.”

  “It’ll be fine,” she said again, firmly. Even if he was gone, the shack held too many memories. The sooner she put it behind her the better.

  “I’ll go hitch up the wagon,” he said without inflection.

  “No need. Joe’s coming for me.”

  She thought she’d learned to read him by now. But the thick curve of his eyebrows shadowed his eyes, hiding any emotion; his mouth held a hard, impassive line.

  Silently he reached into his pocket and pulled out a black wallet, the leather holding a dull sheen, the fold so worn the wallet had nearly torn in two. He opened it, counted out a thin stack of bills, and thrust it in her direction.

  Nausea curled in her stomach and she couldn’t bring herself to take the money. Though the sensible part of her knew she had very little choice and even fewer options, she couldn’t look at those bills in his strong, familiar hand, a hand that had stroked her intimately only a few nights before, and not feel as if he were paying her off.

  “Oh no.” Jake grabbed her hand and shoved the bills into it, forcing her fingers around the money when she didn’t take it of her own accord. “We made a deal. You’re taking it.” And there was no way in hell, Jake thought, he was going to spend the next few months worrying about whether Emily had ended up in a cat house or starving to death because he’d kicked her out of the only place she had. It was a small enough price to pay to quiet his conscience.

  She grimaced at the money in her hand as if he’d just handed her a ball of horseshit. “You don’t owe me anything. The land’s rightfully yours and you know it.”

  Oh God, why wouldn’t she just go? If they didn’t get this over with he was going to end up with even more regrets than he already had, and he’d tallied a life’s worth as it was.

  “Christ, Em, it’s not like you’ve been lolling around while you’re here. You’ve cleaned up the house, and fed me more than once, and even fixed the damn stovepipe.”

  She smiled wryly. “And even cleared at least a whole two square yards of land.”

  Even now he couldn’t resist her and gave her a weak smile that caused her own to break wide and beautiful. “At least.”

  Damn. If only she wouldn’t smile. It spurred an uncomfortable mix of emotions in him, a tangled mess of desire and anger and remorse and a dozen other things he’d just as soon not examine.

  A shout and the rattle of an approaching wagon rescued him. Joe stopped the wagon a good forty yards away and hollered again. “You ready to go?”

  “Yes, of course.” Under her breath, she added, “I don’t think Joe’s going to allow you within swinging distance anytime soon.”

  He wedged the crate against his hip with one arm before grabbing both suitcases in his other hand.

  “I can manage,” she said.

  He ignored her. He acknowledged Joe with a brief nod when he reached the wagon, which Joe evaded by taking an extreme interest in his gelding’s tail. By the time he’d loaded her luggage into the wagon bed dusted with the remnants of a load of hay, she’d avoided the awkwardness of having him hand her up by climbing in herself.

  The crate had no more than tipped into place before the wagon jolted on its way.

  Emily tried to keep her eyes forward. She’d never seen the good in looking backward; what was done was done. The future was all that mattered.

  It wasn’t her fault that the wagon hit a rut and tipped her sidewise. Wasn’t her intent for the dip to force her head to swing to the side, making her glance back.

  But, once she had, she was caught. Frozen, her neck at an awkward angle, gripping the hard edge of the rough board seat.

  Behind him spread the land, stretching infinite and featureless to those who’d not known the place. But she knew better, and saw all the variety in bright relief, the dozens of shades of green and gold, the ripple and dip of subtle contours, the ever-shifting color of the sky.

  And him, utterly alone upon it, hard-planed face and broad, rigid shoulders, as contained and forbidding as his land, the richness and reward he offered as inaccessible to the weak and timid. Despite everything, she hoped with all her heart that someday there might be a woman he’d allow close, one who’d be strong enough to share it with him.

  She lifted her hand, fingers bent; not a wave, but a hopeful gesture. Be safe, be well. Be, if not happy, at least not unhappy.

&n
bsp; Chapter 17

  As Jake had once buried himself in alcohol he now buried himself in work. Over the next month he put out two issues of the Register, as he named his fledging newspaper. He finished the lean-to on the house and fashioned a more permanent stable for Reg. And spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince himself that he’d done absolutely the right thing.

  What other choice did he have? Ask her to stay with him? The idea was ludicrous. Emily was hardly the sort to live in sin, not to mention that her sister would have his head. No, a clean, swift cut was far better.

  He’d cleared a few acres when he’d first had the land, which the prairie had wasted no time in reclaiming. But in a hollow down by a dry wash some of the corn he’d planted must have gone to seed and now studded the grass with stiff, prickly stalks.

  It was worth harvesting, he decided. And if he spent one more afternoon hunched over his press, picking through tiny squares of type, he was liable to take a hammer to the whole damn thing. He didn’t mind writing, but throwing type was the most tedious work ever invented, and he had a damnable tendency to spill it just when he neared the end.

  The land was more gold than green now, the sun weaker. The air, while still warm, didn’t have the potent heat of a month earlier.

  A brace of quail rose in protest when he kicked his way into the first stand of corn. Got there just in time, he thought, and quickly stripped a half-dozen stalks of their ears. He moved further into the wash, near where a low, exposed bluff glinted with flecks of mica. As he bent to grab a fat ear low on a stunted stalk, he caught sight of a shape out of the corner of his eye.

  He pressed his forefinger and thumb to his eyes. It was a given he would dream of her. Even forgivable; a man could only govern his dreams so much. But seeing her while he was wide awake…it was enough to drive a man back to drink.

  But he still saw her, sitting near a low cedar, a basket at her side, frowning at the notepad in her lap.