Summer Breeze

by Catherine Anderson

  Ruff-ruff-ruff.

  Buddy. The sound of his growling barks barely penetrated Joseph’s brain.

  But then it came again, a series of deep growls followed by three earsplitting yips. Joseph jerked as if he’d been touched by a red-hot brand. He broke off the kiss and stared stupidly into Rachel’s dazed eyes. Felt her heat and wetness under his hand. Saw her bared breasts.

  What in the hell was he doing?

  He sprang to his feet. Bewilderment clouded Rachel’s lovely features.

  Grinning happily, Buddy scampered back and forth between Joseph and the bed.

  Joseph grabbed for breath as if he’d just run a mile. He raked a hand through his hair. “I am so sorry, Rachel. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.”

  She pushed her skirt down and fumbled to close her bodice. Streaks of crimson flagged her cheeks as she sat up. “Please don’t,” she said softly. “It was as much my doing as yours. I started it, after all.”

  Joseph couldn’t let himself off the hook quite that easily. Granted, she had initiated the embrace, but only with the most innocent of intentions. He was the one who’d taken it to another level. And, God help him, he was shaking with an urgent need to finish what he’d started.

  Before he acted on that urge, he had to get away from her. This was not happening. He spun away to collect his bedroll and jacket from the water closet. When he emerged, Rachel gave him a bruised, hurt look.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll be sleeping in the dining room from here on out. I don’t trust myself to stay in here with you.”

  She pushed to her feet. “But, Joseph, that’s just silly.”

  Not silly. Had she no idea how devastatingly beautiful she was with her braid coming loose and her mouth swollen from his kisses? He wanted her so bad that he trembled.

  “I’ll be sleeping in another room, all the same. Do you mind letting me out?”

  Joseph rolled his jacket, unrolled his jacket, and punched his jacket. He tried lying on his side. He tried lying on his back. He tried closing his eyes. He tried staring through the darkness at the ceiling. No how, no way could he drift off to sleep. Through the crack under the door, light from the kitchen spilled in a broad swath over the dining room floor to puddle against the wall. He couldn’t help thinking that it was almost as golden as Rachel’s hair.

  What kind of man was he? Wanting her like this was wrong, and yearning to act on it was even worse. What if Buddy hadn’t barked? Joseph kept coming back to that, furious with himself because he doubted that he would have come to his senses and stopped. He’d been that far gone.

  Young women like Rachel were for marrying. Any man who would take her with no thought of making an honest woman of her wasn’t worth the powder it would take to blow him to hell.

  Did he want to marry her? Joseph mentally circled the question as if it were a coiled rattlesnake. He cared for her. There was no denying that. He had more feelings for her, in fact, than he’d ever had for any woman outside his family. But did he love her? It felt like love. Just a single tear, falling from one of her lovely blue eyes, had him scrambling to set her world to rights, and a single smile from her kissable lips made his heart soar. But couldn’t that be only fondness?

  And how the hell could he be sure that his feelings for her would last? Maybe he was letting Old Glory do his thinking for him again, and all these confusing emotions would vanish like a puff of smoke the moment he slaked his need for her.

  A picture of her face moved through his mind. He didn’t want to hurt her. She was too dear. He’d glimpsed pain in her beautiful blue eyes more than once. She’d already suffered enough without his adding to her heartache.

  He heard the wood door creak open. The next instant, light poured into the dining room. He shifted his shoulders sideways and tucked in his chin to see Rachel standing behind the bars over the archway. She’d changed into a nightgown, pale pink and trimmed prettily with lace and ribbons. The lantern light behind her shone through the muslin, outlining every delightful curve of her body.

  Joseph fleetingly wondered if one of the temptations that had so tortured Christ during his trial in the desert had been a beautiful woman in a nearly transparent gown.

  “Joseph?” she called softly. “Are you still awake?”

  He doubted he’d ever sleep again. “Yes, honey, wide awake.”

  “Can we talk for a bit?”

  He almost groaned. “Only if you drape a blanket over your shoulders.” So I can’t see your body. “I don’t want you taking a chill.”

  She spun away and returned a moment later wrapped in a blanket. He could still see the outline of her gorgeous legs, but at least the rest of her was hidden. He recalled the delicate pink of her nipples, and his body hardened.

  She sat in the threshold, her back resting against the doorframe, her knees hugged to her chest.

  “So what do you want to talk about?” As if he didn’t know. Every female he’d ever encountered intimately, in any degree, had wanted to talk about it afterward, especially if the intimate encounter had gone badly. Not that his intimate encounters usually did.

  “Anything,” she whispered, surprising him yet again. “I can’t sleep.”

  He understood that problem. “Anything, huh?” He thought of a topic that had recently become dear to his heart. “You ever seen a courtyard?”

  “You mean like in rich people’s yards? It’s a garden of sorts, isn’t it?”

  “Better than just a garden.” Joseph punched at his jacket pillow again and lay on his side so it was easier to see her. “It’s a room that’s outside. Fancy ladies in big cities can go out in their nightclothes and sit in their courtyards of a morning to enjoy the sunshine and flowers. No one passing by on the street can see them.”

  She said nothing.

  “Just imagine that, a room outside with an ironwork ceiling, made similar to your doors, and tall rock walls all around. You’d be even safer than you are in your kitchen. No shotgun can blow a hole through solid rock, that’s for certain.”

  “Where did you see a courtyard?”

  Joseph had seen courtyards in California as a boy. They hadn’t been fortresses like he hoped to build for Rachel, but that was beside the point. “A number of people in California have them. They’re really some pumpkins.”

  “Amazing. Too bad I’m not rich.”

  Joseph grinned. “Just imagine it, an outdoor room as safe as your kitchen where the sunlight comes down through the iron-bar ceiling and the birds and butterflies can come in.”

  She sighed wistfully. “With flowers all around,” she added.

  “Absolutely.”

  She sighed again. “It would be lovely. But there’s no point in pining for things I can’t have.”

  “It never hurts to dream a little,” Joseph urged. “If I had a courtyard, I’d want a birdbath and lots of flowers.”

  “Roses,” she said. “I love the smell of roses.”

  Joseph had recently become fond of their scent, too. Roses went onto his mental shopping list. He had no idea how to get any, but he felt confident that Caitlin did.

  “And little stepping-stone walkways,” she said dreamily.

  Joseph’s eyebrows lifted. Stepping-stones? Whoa, girl. Don’t get carried away.

  “And a fountain. If I were rich enough to have a courtyard, I’d want a fountain.”

  A fountain? That was way beyond anything he could give her. But at least he had her thinking about it and longing for an outdoor garden. “What other flowers do you like?”

  “Lilacs,” she said straightaway. “And violets. I adore violets. Tulips, too. Do you like tulips?”

  Joseph liked all kinds of flowers. “I like tulips fine. What else would you enjoy about a courtyard besides the flowers?”

  “The sunlight,” she said fervently. “And feeling the wind on my face. Is there anything that smells lovelier than a summer breeze?”

  She smelled lovelier than anything he’
d ever known, all sweet and clean and dabbed with rose water. He studied her amber-limned features, imagining her sitting on a garden bench with sunlight igniting her golden curls and roses all around her.

  “What would you say if I told you that you’re about to get a courtyard?”

  That brought her gaze to his. “Say what?”

  “A bunch of folks hereabouts are going to start bringing wagonloads of rock for your courtyard any day now. The fellow that owns the quarry is donating the mortar mixings. And Bubba White has already started on the ironwork for your roof and gate.”

  Her eyes widened with incredulity. “You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious. I wish I could take credit for the idea, but it was Sue Ellen White who came up with it. She talked it up at church and got a lot of other folks interested in helping out. ‘Sunshine for Miss Rachel’ is what they’re calling it.”

  Her eyes went bright with tears. Then she covered her face with her hands.

  “Sweetheart, don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said in a muffled voice. “A courtyard? Oh, lands, I can’t believe it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The first wagonload of rock arrived the following morning, providing Joseph with a perfect excuse to stay outside most of the day, safely away from temptation. Since sexual frustration had his nerves strung tighter than a bowstring, he welcomed the opportunity to do some hard work.

  Along about ten, Rachel cracked open the back door, clearly hoping to visit with him, but today he was farther from the porch. “I can’t hear you, honey. I’d love to talk, but you’ll have to open the door wider.”

  The door inched open just a little more. “Is that better?”

  Joseph could hear her now, but he wasn’t about to tell her so. “What was that?”

  The crack widened. “Can you hear me now?”

  “Come again?”

  Finally her face appeared in the opening. “Oh, Joseph.” She beamed a radiant smile. “I can see out!”

  “Imagine that.” He mixed another batch of mortar in the wheelbarrow and began adding the second tier of rock to the courtyard wall. “You’ve got the bars to protect you, honey. Open on up and enjoy the morning.”

  “I’m good just like this,” she insisted.

  But soon she was sitting on the floor with the door opened wide enough to accommodate her bent knees.

  “I can hear the birds, Joseph. Oh, lands, this is so wonderful!”

  “If you’d open the door all the way, you might even see the little buggers.”

  She didn’t find the courage immediately, but within a couple of hours she finally had the door flung wide. The look of utter joy on her face was something Joseph believed he would remember for the rest of his life. She said nothing. Instead, she just sat there, drinking in the sights and sounds for which she’d thirsted for so long.

  At last she said, “Oh, Joseph, this is wonderful. Just listen.”

  Joseph paused in his work to cock an ear. At first he heard nothing, but then he realized that wasn’t precisely true. He actually heard a multitude of sounds that were so commonplace to him that he mostly ignored them—the buzz of a fly, the raucous call of a jay, the wind whispering through the grass, the creaking of the oak as it shifted in the breeze.

  “Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s beyond incredible.” She flung her arms wide. “The door is open, and I can breathe, Joseph. It’s a miracle.”

  Her miracle came to an abrupt end when a new sound reached them, that of an approaching wagon. Buddy sprang to his feet and started barking. Rachel vanished lickety-split and slammed the door behind her. Squinting against the sunlight, Joseph saw that the driver was Charley Banks, and judging by the drop of the wagon, he had it loaded to capacity with rock. Way off in the distance, Joseph saw another wagon coming in as well.

  Rachel’s courtyard was about to become a reality.

  Over the next two weeks, Joseph’s days fell into a repeating pattern. As soon as he’d finished the morning chores and eaten breakfast, he went to work on the courtyard walls, stopping only to eat lunch or when Ace came over to stand guard duty. When the latter occurred, Joseph took care of errands in town, rode the Hollister land to check on Rachel’s tiny herd of cattle, and then headed south to monitor his place. Darby was recovering nicely and beginning to grump about staying in bed, which told Joseph that the old foreman would soon be healed enough to come home.

  That being the case, it was with a sense of sadness that Joseph saw the courtyard walls grow taller. Before he knew it, the project would be completed, Darby would return, and he would have no reason to stay on with Rachel.

  Joseph tried to tell himself that he’d be pleased as punch to have his life back to normal again. Calving season was drawing to an end. He’d be free to go into town on Friday nights to play poker and pursue other pleasures. And, hey, he’d be able to sleep in a regular bed again. But somehow none of those thoughts cheered him. He had a challenging poker opponent in Rachel, and the idea of a two-dollar poke in the upstairs rooms of the Golden Slipper now held little appeal. There was only one woman he wanted. And unless he was prepared to marry her, he couldn’t, in good conscience, have her.

  One afternoon when Ace came over to lend a hand with the courtyard walls, Joseph blurted out his troubles.

  He began with, “How do you know when it’s the real thing, Ace?”

  Slathering mortar over a section of rock, Ace sent Joseph a sidelong look. “When what’s the real thing? If you’re talking about gold, you bite it.”

  Joseph swore under his breath. “You know very well what I’m talking about. Why are you always so dad-blamed difficult?”

  Ace chuckled. “The last time I even hinted at that, you damned near took my head off. Oh, no, little brother. You want to talk about it, you’re going to say the word straight out.”

  Joseph slapped a rock into place on the wall with such force that the impact jarred his teeth. “What’s in a word? It’s the feeling that matters.”

  “Yeah, and if you can’t put a name to the feeling, you have a problem.”

  Joseph added another rock, this time with a little less force. “All right, damn it. I think I may be in love with her.”

  “If you only think you’re in love with her, you’re not. There’s no thinking to it when it happens. You can’t breathe for wanting her, and the mere thought of losing her ties your guts into knots.”

  When Joseph thought of leaving Rachel to return home, knotted guts were the least of his troubles. His heart actually hurt. “I reckon I love her, then.” He slapped another rock into place. “Only what if I’m wrong? What if my feelings for her fade? I’ve never had any constancy with women. You know that.”

  “Before he falls in love, what man does?” Ace wiped a speck of mortar from his lean cheek. “Love brings about changes of heart you can never imagine until they happen to you.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  Ace mused over the question for a moment. “Well, for one thing, if you’re really in love, you’re ruined for all other females.”

  Joseph muttered none too happily under his breath again.

  “And when you’re truly in love, what you once regarded as a huge burden and responsibility, namely a wife and kids, suddenly is a pleasure. You want the responsibility, and when that first child comes into the world, instead of thinking of the scary stuff, you’re so proud you think you’ll bust.”

  “Little Ace is a fine boy. I don’t blame you for being proud.”

  “I can tell you this. You’ve never felt love until you hold your own little baby in your arms. If he sneezes, your heart almost stops for fear he’s taking sick, and you wake up in the dead of night to poke a finger under his nose just to make sure he’s still breathing. And if by chance he’s between breaths and you feel nothing, pure panic seizes you.”

  “Sounds like a bad case of influenza to me.”

  Ace grinned. “I reck
on that’s why we don’t decide to fall in love. It just happens upon us. Later in the marriage, I reckon there are times when love does become a decision—along about the time your wife gets her monthly curse, and the sweet, angelic little gal you married suddenly snarls at you like a hydrophobic dog. When that happens, you decide to love her anyway and don’t snarl back.”

  “When has Caitlin ever snarled at you?”

  “Hasn’t—yet. But she’s been grumpy as all get-out a few times. In short, Joseph, your feelings for a woman do change after a time. It doesn’t stay fresh and exciting forever.”

  “I knew it.”

  Ace nodded sagely. “One day you wake up, and you realize you know everything there is to know about her. You’ve heard all her stories. You know what she’s going to say before she says it. Your feelings change, plain and simple. The excitement of new love is gone.”

  “You see?” Joseph slapped another rock into place with such strength that mortar splattered in all directions. “That’s exactly my worry, that I’ll make a commitment and then wake up one morning with changed feelings.”

  “It’ll happen,” Ace said with absolute certainty. “And that’s the best part of all, the changes that come with time.”

  Joseph gave his brother another sharp, questioning look.

  “When the excitement fades, the real love takes over,” Ace went on. “It’s there from the start, I reckon. It’s what brings two people together. But in the beginning the real love is overshadowed by all the excitement and newness. When the excitement wears off, you get down to the reality of love, and that’s the best part.”

  “If the excitement goes, how can that be the best part?”

  “Don’t confuse excitement with passion. Caitlin still excites me that way as no other woman ever has—or ever will. I’m talking about in between those times, when you’re troubled and she understands without your ever saying a single word. Or when you sit with her on the porch of an evening to watch the sunset, and you find that just holding her hand and being with her is the best part of your whole day. Love gets comfortable, sort of like your favorite pair of boots.”