Romancing the Bride

by Melissa Jagears

  He wouldn’t argue that.

  “What do you think?”

  He took a deep breath and weighed the value of saying anything. What did she need to hear at this moment?

  Cupping her crestfallen face, he gazed into her eyes, trying to drill down to that inner part of her where his words might take root. “You’re a good mother, that’s what I think.”

  She gave him a weak smile, and he leaned down to kiss her temple.

  Her breath left with an exaggerated shudder, and his lips seemed unable to leave the soft skin they’d landed on.

  When she didn’t move away, he let himself press another kiss against her warm cheek, then another to the soft skin below her ear. And one atop the beauty mark on her jawline. And then—

  She tensed, and he halted just a breath shy from her lips.

  What was he doing?

  Had he not just vowed hours ago to wait for her to initiate the next kiss?

  He took a step back, and when she didn’t even try to hang on to him, his heart slowed and sank.

  The feel of her skin was still impressed upon each of his fingertips, so he jammed his hands into his pockets in hopes of erasing the sensation.

  Words of apology formed in his mind, but he didn’t voice them.

  For he wasn’t sorry.

  Her hand fluttered up to her face, her fingers trailing along the path he’d kissed.

  He closed his eyes to keep himself from pulling her back and continuing where he’d left off.

  He was ready. Oh, so ready. But she wasn’t. And he would do nothing to hurt her.

  The rattling of a knob made him open his eyes again.

  Annie was pressed up against her door, her hand behind her back. “Goodnight, Jacob.” She backed into her room, her eyes locked on his until the door closed between them.

  He exhaled loudly. What had he been thinking?

  The mood had been all wrong for kissing her like that, and yet, before she’d disappeared into her room, something in her dark hazel eyes had seemed to be inviting him to—

  He lifted his hand to knock, but let it drop.

  No, if she’d actually been inviting him to partake of more, there’d be no door between them.

  He still had to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After Jacob’s footsteps shuffled away from her closed door, Annie stopped leaning against it. She’d half hoped he’d knock, but...

  But what?

  She could’ve reopened the door, knock or not. What was she hoping for that she couldn’t have if she wanted it?

  With a slow step forward, she headed toward her cot while taking off her wrapper. She slipped her legs under her blankets and stared out her lone window. The rain droplets, refracting the light of the fancy street lamp, slowly trickled down the pane.

  She placed a hand on her jaw where Jacob’s lips had applied the gentlest of pressure.

  When would she stop lying to herself?

  All her hesitations, all her excuses, all her worries about what people would think were only vain attempts to stave off her worst fear.

  The sooner she had a real marriage, the sooner heartbreak might come. She could just as easily lose Jacob as she did Gregory, maybe even more so, considering his job. Plus, what if she lost a child, or two? Would Jacob pull away from her as Gregory had?

  Being widowed twice over would be bad enough, but losing a second husband’s affections over something she couldn’t control and would almost rather die than face again?

  A tear slipped down her cheek.

  If she ever gathered up enough courage to write home about the marriage she’d rushed into only to lose her land anyway, Mother would be sure to point out that following the rules of propriety would’ve kept her from all these worries.

  Yet, would she have laughed as deeply as she had this afternoon on the dance floor? She’d not laughed once since being widowed.

  And though God hadn’t saved her from hardships and heartbreak, He’d still provided her with a roof, security, laughter, and a husband she was shutting out.

  Not just with a door, but from her affections as well.

  Because if he knew what she was feeling...

  She stared at herself in the mirror she’d hung behind the door and rubbed her hands up and down her skinny arms.

  With no lantern, she couldn’t see much, but nothing magical would have transfigured her in one day’s time—she was still a gaunt woman with muddy eyes and freckles.

  And yet, Jacob, a man whose face would shame a fairy tale prince’s, had just looked at her with a look she knew well enough.

  How had he become attracted so quickly?

  She’d hoped a mutual admiration would evolve after months of living together, but she’d never expected that hungry, painful look of suppressed desire—at least not so soon. Not for someone like her.

  But she’d seen it twice. The first time, she’d figured she’d misread him. But now she could no longer pretend she was seeing things. He really did want his plain wife.

  Her fingers returned to the curve of her neck where his thumb had so lightly caressed her throat as his kisses had turned into something more than a peck on the cheek.

  When she’d proposed to Jacob, she’d thought she’d have time. Lots of time.

  Now it seemed she wasn’t the only one who wished this marriage wasn’t so ... inconvenient.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. How was she already yearning for the intimate hold of a man when Gregory’s memory still haunted her?

  Annie flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling as a bout of thunder rolled over Armelle. Sleep. She should sleep. Things would be clearer come morning once the stresses of the day had been forgotten.

  She curled up into a ball and counted to one thousand.

  The downstairs clock chimed eleven.

  Twelve.

  She kicked off her blankets and paced, though not much pacing could be done in a room the size of a pantry. But if she left her tiny cell, where would she go?

  His room or downstairs?

  She stopped at the window and placed her clammy forehead against the window pane, the condensation cool and soothing against her heated cheek. The few trees in the yard thrashed in rhythm with the storm’s bluster, her heart and head commiserating with the wind-whipped branches.

  She closed her eyes and with an exhale, pushed away.

  She took one step, then another, and cracked open the door.

  Nothing stirred.

  Her heart beat hard against her ribcage as she padded into the hallway.

  Both Spencer’s and Celia’s door were closed. If her son had been home, she’d have diverted herself in that direction. Staring at his angelic, slumbering face would have taken her mind off things.

  Celia’s door offered little hope for distraction. She could watch her daughter sleep, but if Celia awoke, how would she explain herself? And did she really want to get in a tiff at this hour?

  Illumination from a bolt of lightning flashed through the windows and lit up the hallway. Jacob’s door stood slightly ajar.

  A peal of thunder vibrated against her soles, and a sudden downpour pelted the roof. She was in no danger of being heard walking about, so she crossed the hallway. At his door, she rested her hand against it, but didn’t push until another roll of thunder rattled the house.

  Lightning flashed through his room’s four curtainless windows, revealing Jacob sprawled on his back across the bed, as relaxed as a school-aged boy. Though the bed was large, his limbs nearly reached from edge to edge. A sheet was wrapped around his waist and one leg, the rest of him uncovered.

  A flash brighter than a lantern filled the room, and an immediate crack of thunder made her gasp.

  Jacob sat up halfway, shook his head while rubbing at his eyes, and almost lay back down, but stopped midway. “Annie?”

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Her voice came out breathless. “Don’t bother getting up.”

  “What’s wro
ng?”

  “I thought ... rather, I needed ... or, well I—” She twisted her nightgown in her hands. Oh, what was she doing?

  “What time’s it, darlin’?” His voice was gravelly and deeper than usual, causing her heart to flutter.

  His mattress creaked, and he leaned toward his footboard. His profile was nearly indiscernible with only flickering cloud-to-cloud lightning penetrating the darkness. A shadow slipped over his face—his shirt.

  Annie took a step forward, but her other foot refused to follow.

  If she didn’t push herself over this hill, how long would she stay stuck on the other side? Jacob wasn’t the kind of man to command her left foot to take the step it hesitated to take—he’d wait ... and wait and wait. “It’s later than it should be.”

  Another deafening crack of thunder made her jump an inch off the floor.

  He looked toward the window and let loose a soft whistle. “That was close.” He then pushed off the bed and stepped toward her. “What did you want?”

  Want ... Need. “Would you hold me?”

  In the darkness, she couldn’t see his arm, but after a gentle swipe of his fingers, he found hers and curled his hand around her wrist. “Afraid of storms?”

  His sleep-filled, husky voice made it impossible for her to form words, so she shook her head.

  He tugged her closer, and her back foot followed.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Better?”

  “No.” She fumbled for one of his hands and brought it up, placing it against her neck where he’d last kissed her. “But I might be. If you’d start where you left off.”

  His chest stopped moving and she could hear him swallow.

  A glimmer of sheet lightning danced in his dark eyes before his mouth took hers so suddenly she was caught mid-breath.

  His hands cupped her neck, his fingers ensconcing themselves in her hair, his thumbs whisper soft against her jaw. His lips pressed against hers with slightly more pressure.

  But then he didn’t move. His breath held. His hands stilled.

  There’d be no turning back if she didn’t break away now.

  He knew it too.

  And he was waiting.

  She closed her eyes and brought her own hand up to touch the heightened pulse in his throat and moved her lips against his, pressing, probing, permitting.

  He pulled away for a second, his haggard breath caressing her lips.

  She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, but she could feel his gaze take her in for a moment before he cupped her face in his hands and reclaimed her mouth just as a crash of thunder echoed through the room.

  She easily matched the intensity of his kisses, which only grew with the crescendoing roar of the storm.

  And continued, even when the rain was long past.

  Chapter Thirty

  Annie sat on the cot in her room brushing her hair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The pink hue of the rising sun slowly softened the shadows on her face.

  She’d left Jacob’s room while he was yet asleep in case Celia came looking for her, but she couldn’t stay closeted away forever. How could she leave this room with a mess of confusion, pleasure, guilt, and anticipation stamped across her face?

  He loved her. He hadn’t said so, but it was extraordinarily evident after last night.

  Did she love him? Perhaps she already did. But did she love him as well as he should be loved?

  He deserved a much better wife than the emotional mess he’d married.

  Oh, Lord, please let me grow to love him in time. Let me not disappoint him.

  Yes, that’s all she needed—time.

  The knot in her chest loosened. She put her brush on the bedside table, picked up her pins, and set to work on her hair. Her love for Gregory had waxed and waned during different seasons of life, had it not? So too would her love for Jacob.

  He’d given up his bachelorhood and rescued her from poverty. When it became clear he’d not get what he’d bargained for, he hadn’t uttered a single complaint. How could she not grow to love him?

  One day it might feel like the heart-fluttering love she’d had for Gregory during their courtship, but there’d also been times when she’d loved Gregory as the man she knew she could count on, though she was so livid with him she could spit.

  She squared her shoulders. Though her emotions wouldn’t settle into something she understood, she’d act as if she did. She pinched her cheeks and smiled a little. She did look a touch prettier today.

  She grabbed her shawl and forced herself to meet the day. Her door’s hinges creaked loudly in the silent hall.

  Jacob’s door was shut.

  She chewed on her lip and took a step in that direction, but the scuffling in Celia’s room stopped her. Was it wrong to wish Celia would stay in her room long enough for her and Jacob to breakfast alone?

  She sighed and crossed over to her daughter’s door and knocked. She needed to know how many flapjacks to make.

  “Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk.”

  Annie leaned against Celia’s door and tried not to sound happy that her daughter wouldn’t be ruining breakfast. “Will you be having lunch with us?”

  No response.

  A door opened behind her.

  Jacob entered the hall, dressed in his usual black trousers and thin tie tucked under his gray vest. “Good morning.” His voice rumbled with the vestiges of sleep.

  Annie averted her eyes from his overly warm gaze.

  Though the sight of him made her heart pound, she hated for anyone to see her blush.

  He came up beside her. “I take it she’s not coming down?”

  At the shake of her head, he pulled her against his side and nuzzled her hair. “She’ll come around.”

  She frowned at Celia’s door. If Gregory had been as affectionate with their children as Jacob was with Spencer, would her daughter have turned out so prickly?

  Spencer had bloomed under Jacob’s attention, and who’d have guessed Spencer had the capacity for even more sparkle?

  What if she’d been the one who’d failed her daughter? How many years had she spent mourning lost children and trying to rid the ranch of never-ending dirt instead of sitting down to braid hair or leaving the broom behind to pick wildflowers?

  “We’ll keep praying.” He rubbed her arm and smiled down at her. “Have you started breakfast?”

  “No.” And how would she manage to cook with him watching her with that mischievous slant to his lips?

  “Since I slept late,” he wrapped his arms around her, “and neither of the kids are eating, why don’t you stop by the bakery and get yourself something on the way to your temperance meeting?”

  “The temperance meeting.” She smacked her cheek. “How did I forget?”

  A sparkle leapt into his eyes. “Perhaps you were distracted by something a lot more fun?”

  Her skin grew hot against her hand.

  “You’re entirely too tempting when you’re flustered.” His lips met hers in what turned out to be a not-so-quick kiss.

  Her heart sang and a moan escaped from deep inside her chest, but she had to push away. “Jacob,” she sputtered, stealing a glance at the door beside them. “Celia might hear.”

  “Then be quieter next time.” He winked then kissed her forehead. “See you after work.” Whistling, he bounded down the steps.

  She rubbed the gooseflesh along her arms but she couldn’t erase the raised bumps he’d left behind.

  With a deep breath, she knocked on her daughter’s door again. “I’m going to the temperance meeting. Will you be all right?”

  “If you consider being imprisoned all right.”

  Celia’s ability to sass didn’t seem impaired. “I’ll let you know when I return, darling.”

  Annie rushed back to her room to retrieve her bonnet. At the fundraiser yesterday, she’d learned that the mother of Celia’s friend, Harriet, was supposed to be at this meeting. Hopefully Harriet’s mother would be w
illing to discuss what they could do to make sure their girls grew up to be proper young ladies, and how to keep them from running off with those boys.

  The second lecture was interminable.

  Annie fanned herself with a leaflet entitled “The Power of Temperance Education” that she’d folded accordion style, and slouched down behind the generous width of Mrs. Tate in the row in front of her to hide her inattention. Sitting in the courthouse basement for two hours on this hard chair had made her body beg for the sleep it’d been denied.

  Imagining the voice of her mother droning on about the importance of beauty sleep made her grin. If Mother were here to lecture on that topic, Annie could stop her cold by telling her exactly why she’d not been able to sleep last night.

  “Would Marshal Hendrix approve of that?”

  She dropped her leaflet fan, though her face had suddenly grown warmer than the muggy air.

  Had Mrs. Beard just read her thoughts in front of everybody?

  “Mrs. Gep—I mean, Mrs. Hendrix? Would he?”

  The woman didn’t look appalled or censuring, so what was she asking about? Annie pulled at her neckline. “Ah, I think the marshal would likely side with the temperance union?”

  “Good.” Mrs. Beard’s piercing winter-blue eyes shifted to a heavyset woman in the front row. “Biddy, pass her the remaining leaflets.”

  Annie sat up straighter. Had she just doomed her husband to hand out their literature, too? “And what would you have the marshal do exactly?”

  “Why, just hand prisoners a copy of each leaflet. I suppose he might also call upon us to come deliver speeches on the ills of intemperate living if he hasn’t the time to do it himself.”

  Biddy rose and handed Annie a two-inch stack of paper.

  The top leaflet boldly proclaimed, “Sabbath Desecration.”

  Annie set them down beside the leaflets she’d already been asked to pass out. “I see.”