Gifts of Love

by Raine Cantrell

  By supper time, Ketch, having the advantage of being the first to understand that something was wrong, noted the battle line drawn between Mace and Erin.

  When one thought the other wasn’t watching, looks were given in a sneaky manner six ways to Sunday. Mace scowled and snapped, Erin smiled and served. The meal’s end was a relief for Ketch.

  Trying to be helpful, he asked Mace to join him and the others for a poker game. Mace refused. He had bookwork. Ketch shrugged. He had tried.

  Erin had little trouble getting the children to bed, for they were exhausted from their play. The spill of light told her Mace was still in the front parlor, but she resisted the impulse to confront him.

  Once in bed, Erin stared up at the ceiling, praying for sleep.

  Mace sat and stared at numbers that wouldn’t make sense and wished he could crawl into a hole somewhere and pull it in after him.

  Morning found corn bread, muffins, pancakes, bacon, ham and eggs on the table. Erin had cooked and cooked, and she greeted everyone with a sweet smile, everyone but Mace.

  For Mace, the sight of all that food set his stomach to rebelling. Small tension knots had formed and redoubled. He forced himself to eat, feeling that everyone was watching him, but it was hard going to get food past the lump in his throat.

  When he pushed aside his plate, he announced, “I won’t be back till supper. I’m riding out to check the herd.”

  With a speed that amazed herself, Erin was up, packing sliced corn bread and ham into a napkin, rounding the table to hand it to him. “Take this with you then, so you won’t go hungry.”

  He gazed up at eyes that flared hot with temper and lowered his head. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t bother to thank me,” she returned with sweetness dripping off each word. “It’s the very least a wife can do.”

  That brought his head up. “Yeah. It’s the least!”

  She watched him storm out and knew someone was bound to remark about it. “I can’t imagine what’s eating him,” she said, twisting her apron with her hands. “The calves are all doing well, aren’t they, Ketch?”

  “Calves is fine,” he answered, giving her a knowing look. “It’s the mamas he’s all fired up about.”

  “Well, he should be,” she returned with heat and left it at that. Thankfully, so did Ketch.

  But by the time supper was ready to be served, Erin had calmed enough to decide on another course of action. Mace Dalton was not going to get away with ignoring her.

  Two cows had been lost to the storm. Cosi brought in the frozen carcasses and Erin went out with him and Pete to butcher and store the meat. She was grateful when they both insisted they could manage without her, allowing her time to clean up before supper.

  Erin took extra special care to fix her hair in a softer upswept style, but when she examined the few gowns she had altered to accommodate her rounding figure, she wanted to weep with frustration. How could she hope to look pretty when she felt like one of Mace’s ready-to-birth cows? The cloth of every dress was faded and she knew she would look foolish if she tried to flirt with Mace. The man needed a pounding with a fry pan, not a woman gussied up to attract his attention!

  But the soft waves framing her flushed face brought a gleam of frankly male hunger to Mace’s eyes when he came in for supper. With a caution so unlike him, he tested the heat of Erin’s temper by sniffing appreciatively and asking what was for supper.

  “Steaks and mashed potatoes,” she answered without turning from the stove.

  “Smells more like gravy and apple pie to me.”

  “You might be right, Mr. Dalton.”

  So she was back to calling him Mr. Dalton, was she? He had best not complain. At least she was talking civil to him

  Ketch proved to be her ally. Dragging out his chair, he remarked with a decided twinkle in his eyes, “You sure do my eyes good lookin’ so pretty after the day’s work you put in, Miz Erin.”

  “Why, thank you, Ketch. But the work wasn’t all that hard. I had Cosi and Pete helping me every step of the way.”

  Mace felt his muscles clench seeing the sweet smiles she bestowed on Cosi and Pete. He glowered at each man in turn so that they quickly began cutting into the two-inch-thick steaks Erin served them.

  She set a plate in front of Mace. “I hope you like your steak rare. That’s how I made it for you. And you were right. There’s gravy, too.”

  He swallowed and nodded. He hated rare meat of any kind. Slicing into his steak, he decided he’d stomach it. Somehow he’d manage. But he wasn’t going to let her get away that easily.

  After a pointed look down the table, he lifted his gaze to hers. “Don’t see a buttermilk biscuit in sight.”

  “Oh,” she sighed, “did you particularly want them tonight? I wish you would’ve asked me. Every time Cosi does, I make them for him.”

  His eyes snapped with fury, belying his careless shrug. “Guess I should’ve known better. I should know that if I ask you’ll give me anything, right, Erin?”

  It wasn’t a question, not really. She didn’t need to reply. But she itched to, and the itch needed scratching more than she needed to keep her dignity. “Try asking sometime, Mr. Dalton, and see what happens.”

  Feeling she had held her own, Erin took her seat and found that her own appetite hadn’t suffered a bit. She ate more than she wanted, for every time she looked up from her plate, she found Mace’s brooding gaze pinned on her. She smiled a lot. She asked about everyone’s day, including the children’s. She listened and laughed and ignored Mace. When Ketch took another steak and a second helping of potatoes she teased him and delighted in the steam rising from the man opposite her.

  But sleep once more was a long time in coming for her that night and in the nights that followed. There were nights when she cried and others when she tossed and turned for the ache that went unrelieved. An ache that Mace had created, satisfied and now left unabated.

  Erin tried to find him alone, hoping to talk to him. The toll of the tension between them was beginning to show on Mace as well as herself.

  He made excuses to leave the house after supper. He rode out during the day to where she couldn’t follow. He spent time with the children, often ending the night sleeping in the big rocking chair in their room.

  Mace lost weight. Erin felt she had gained every pound. He went back to taunting her. She retreated meekly. Not even the first of the wildflowers that Becky brought to her managed to chase Erin’s dark mood.

  She stopped blaming Mace for staying away from her. Who wanted to be near a woman who waddled instead of walked? No man enjoyed the sight of hair so limp it could have passed for noodles. Strength came and went so that some days she had to drag herself from bed, and others she felt bursting with energy. Erin was miserable.

  “Miz Erin shouldn’t be left with jus’ Jake and Becky close by,” Ketch said to Mace as they rode in early one afternoon. He knew Mace saw her struggling to tame the sheets on the line that the fresh April breeze was playfully trying to pull from her grasp.

  “Go help her,” Mace ordered, resisting the urge to do it himself.

  “Ain’t my place, boss. Ain’t my wife. Ain’t my child she’s haulin’ round big as can be.”

  “You’re proddin’ me, old man.”

  “Boss, if proddin’ gets the job done…” Ketch let the words sink home before he reached down and took hold of Tariko’s reins. “Go on. You’re fair to wastin’ away tryin’ to avoid her.”

  Erin had spotted them riding in, but she kept her eyes fixed on the laundry that threatened to escape her grasp.

  From nowhere Jake was suddenly running, entangling himself between the wind-whipped clothes, Scrap at his heels, barking.

  “Jake!” she yelled. “Come away from there. You and that dog. Go on,” she continued, anger in her voice, for yesterday, two of Mace’s shirts ended up torn off the line and in the muck pile. And as much as she had been tempted to leave them there, she had been forced to wash them
again.

  “Aw, Erin, we’re just playing.”

  “Not here. You and the dog cause me trouble and work.” Seeing Scrap lift muddy paws to grab a sheet, Erin flapped Ketch’s union suit at him. “See! Now take yourself and that dog out of my way. I don’t want either of you around!”

  The stunned look she chanced to see on Jake’s face instantly cooled her anger. She raised her hand toward him, but the boy turned and fled, Scrap at his heels.

  Lord, but she ached from the inside out today. She couldn’t even bend over to hook all of her shoe buttons and her ankles were chafed where the leather rubbed. Now she had yelled at Jake and hurt him.

  Mace heard her, every word. She wasn’t wrong to chase Jake and the dog away from the laundry, even he could see what was bound to happen, but he resented her yelling in anger.

  But the sight of those half-buttoned shoes revealed by a wind gust lifting her skirt hem and petticoat forced him to still his resentment and approach her. She was all stubborn and no sense. All she had to do was ask for help.

  “Go inside,” he said by way of greeting. “I’ll get the laundry.”

  Worrying over the way she yelled at Jake, Erin knew she shouldn’t answer Mace. Her temper seemed to need something to snap at and he was too perfect a target. When he elbowed her aside to take down the sheet without a bit of trouble, she knew she wasn’t having one of her meek days.

  “I’ll see to this myself, Mr. Dalton. It’s one of the chores you hired me for.”

  Mace glared at her profile. Where did that nonsense come from? Hired? He claimed her as his wife, claimed her child and slept with her. “Don’t get your back up over an offer to help.”

  “And don’t you start telling me what to do!” Erin managed to toss clothes into the large basket, knowing the struggle she would have to carry it once filled.

  “Listen, woman. You’ve got no call to snap my head off. I just offered to help you.”

  “Snap your head off? I should be so lucky. We all would be grateful if I could.”

  “Erin,” he declared in a warning voice.

  “And when 1 want your help, I’ll ask. Don’t stand around waiting, Mr. Dalton. Those mountains of yours will come tumbling down first.” Ignoring the flapping laundry still on the line, Erin reached for the basket. Her every move pointed to her ungainly appearance, but she wanted to be away from Mace. The basket was long and wide, big enough for Jake and Scrap to squeeze into when they wanted to hide from her. Carrying it with her protruding belly was at best awkward, at worst, dangerous, for she couldn’t see where she stepped.

  Mace realized that very thing and with a snort of disgust, meant for her continued stubbornness, he yanked the basket away.

  Erin stood where he left her, hurt beyond anything that he had done before. Snort at her, would he? It proved her every suspicion that he had lied to her the night she followed him to his bed like one of his docile cows. Lovely? Beautiful? Ha! He had needed a woman and she was the only one there, more than willing. But he didn’t have to lie about how she looked.

  He climbed the back stairs and opened the kitchen door, but Erin knew nothing could drag her into the house while he was there. She had plenty of chores waiting—each day saw her further behind in them—but they could wait. Frustrated anger and swift tears seemed to be the extent of her moods these days and tears were threatening now that anger passed.

  It didn’t take Mace long to realize that Erin had not followed him into the house. Worried, he opened the back door just in time to see her awkward walk take her past the springhouse. That walk reminded him of…a waddle. All she needed was a covey of little ones at her heels. The thought of Erin surrounded by children brought a grin to his lips. Mothering was an instinct not all women possessed. Erin had it in droves. Sky had made him feel at times that she cared more for the land and himself than the children.

  The reminder did not bring the swift feeling of betrayal it once would have. Since the night he had broken his vow and made love to Erin, he knew he was releasing more of Sky to the past. And hidden in that past was his own mother, a woman who had turned her back on her only son, her only grandchildren, because they were less than the perfection she had demanded. But that had no power to hurt him now.

  Erin did. And that made him go after her.

  He knew she couldn’t have gone far. The newly curled spring grasses released their scent as his boots pressed them to the earth in his search for her. He tilted his hat back, scanning the open land, then concentrated on the edge of the woods, hoping for a glimpse of her gown. The darn faded cloth was the shade of winter-worn wood, making his search difficult.

  Spotting Becky, he called out to her. “You see sign of Erin?”

  “Ain’t she here? I want to show her these pretty stones I found.”

  “Go on up to the house, Becky. I need to find her.”

  “Try the pond or the clearing up above. She likes those places best, Papa.”

  Mace took his daughter’s advice and found Erin up in the clearing. The slight climb must have tired her out, he thought, for she was prone on the grass, arms flung wide at her sides, staring up at the sky. She didn’t make a sound or move as Mace neared and called her name.

  “You’ll have trouble getting up,” he noted softly, dropping to his knees beside her.

  “I know,” she answered in a woeful voice.

  The pale curve of her cheek called for his touch and Mace gave in to the impulse, glad she didn’t try to pull away. All that she was feeling, all the changes the baby was making as it readied itself for birth, rushed at him, and he found in himself a deep well of tenderness, which he offered her.

  “It’ll be over soon, Erin.”

  He sounded so sure that he knew what she was thinking and feeling that Erin didn’t question his statement. He must know, she told herself. He lived through the birth of two children with Sky. He had likely rubbed her back every night, and held her when she cried for no reason. And she was tired of fighting, so tired of being alone and uncertain of what was happening to her. If Mace was another man, she could ask him how it was with Sky. But Mace was not another man, and he didn’t want to talk about Sky, babies or his marriage. She was being torn on too many fronts to fight them all. A weary sigh slipped from her lips, and Mace’s hand stilled.

  “Erin, things can’t go on as they are.”

  “You said that before and now they’re worse.”

  “There are reasons.” He made an effort to ease the edge of anger from his voice. “Believe me in this. There are good reasons. I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. Telling her that he shouldn’t have made love to her didn’t seem right. Yet those were the words that came to mind. They had made love. Love? Erin? He turned them over silently, finding the more he repeated them to himself, the less strangely they went together.

  Erin turned to look up at him. He appeared lost in his thoughts. She fixed her gaze on his chin, wanting to sooth the nick his razor had made. She couldn’t look at his lips without seeing them break with a smile, or remembering the cherished feel of them kissing her. Memory supplied the way his mustache glided softly against her skin, and her eyes traced the line of his nose that had teasingly nudged her hand aside.

  She wanted to be the one, the only one who could ease the lines of worry that furrowed his brow. The instinct to offer him comfort when she was the one in need of the same came up so strongly that Erin closed her eyes to examine it silently by herself.

  Moments like this brought back the hope that she and Mace could have a real marriage. But only if he accepted her as the woman in his life. Only if he opened the secrets of the past. More and more, as the days went by, she wondered why he blamed himself for Sky’s death. She knew his temper, but words did not bring the physical hurt that could cause death. She knew that, even if some of his taunts made her think she’d die at that moment. He was not a violent man. She had sassed him back and been given the same in kind. Why did he
think he caused Sky’s death?

  Mace was the first to set his thoughts aside. Pain pierced him to see the tears silently slip from Erin’s closed eyes. Without thought, he leaned over, drinking each bitter tear with his lips. His hand curved unbidden over the high round of her belly, gently turning her toward him.

  “Don’t,” he murmured, scattering kisses over her temple. “Nothing’s worth crying over, Erin. I promise you, this will all be over soon. I’ll help you. And you’ll let me. We’ll try again.”

  Erin chided herself for being selfish and refused to open her eyes, refused to answer him. But it felt so good to be touched, to be reassured that she wasn’t going to carry this baby forever, that there was still hope for her dream to come true.

  His voice had deepened to a rich liquid murmur that caressed her all the way inside. The kisses grew softer, trailing down to her mouth, and she wanted, needed this tender homage from him. Every sound, each lengthening kiss soothed the hurts of the last weeks. She let him gather her up against his body, took his heat into her own as her dream formed, stronger this time, healed by the rocking of his body against hers.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Erin,” he whispered, stroking the tangled silk of her hair. He knew if he repeated the words enough, she might believe him. She put her arms around him, and he wanted the tears to stop. Husky whispers followed, and he realized she was emotionally spent. Resting on his heels, Mace lifted her up to his lap, pressing kisses against her hair. He held and hushed her as he would one of his own children, waiting for the storm to pass.

  As the need for tears eased, Erin knew she had to brave his wrath. He was right to say that things could not go on as they were. But she wanted honesty between them. Hope alone would not survive without that.

  Her fingers curled around his neck, threading the collar-length dark hair. She lifted her head to look at him

  “Mace, I believe you when you tell me that you don’t mean to hurt me. I think there are other hurts inside you. Hurts you won’t share with me. I need to know about them. I feel as if there are parts to you that you keep hidden away. How can I trust you not to hurt me again when you refuse to tell me why you turned away from me?”