He cocked his head. “You know that, right? That you are beautiful? No—more than that, you are enchanting.”
Meg swallowed. Kiss me. Hold me. Let me know what it feels like to be wanted, to be touched with tenderness.
The cooking egg popped and Meg quickly pulled back. She reached up to wipe a glistening drop of perspiration on her brow. “You just like to see me blush,” she teased. “Remove the egg and we will start another one since we are burning this one.” Of course, that’s not the only thing burning up.
Jonathan sighed, looking exasperated. “I’m sorry, you know.”
“For making me blush? You should be.”
“No, I mean, I should have noticed the signs. Had I not been so entranced by your beauty, I would have noticed that someone was hurting you. I should have saved you.”
Meg’s eyes moistened. She looked away before he could see. Save her? When one man deserted her, the next one abused her. She was not the type to inspire devotion and love. Yet here was a good man, a darn handsome man wishing that he could have saved her. “I should have saved myself.” she muttered to herself. “But I was too weak … too scared.” Meg quickly jerked her head towards the eggs Jonathan had started cracking. “And I don’t know how you became a doctor with such clumsy hands; you are murdering the eggs.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes, your hands are murdering the eggs.”
Jonathan sighed in frustration, “No, the other thing. You think yourself weak?”
Meg shrugged, taking the pan off the stove and handing Jonathan another one, indicating that he begin again. “You sound like Rose. She does not think me so, either. I am not trying to be a martyr, but I don’t know why I stayed. It would have been risky leaving—a single woman with no significant education—but it was dangerous to stay. There were so many times that Mr. Lars would come so close to taking advantage of—” Meg stopped. She had said too much. She was starting to feel safe with Jonathan, safe in his affections, and that made her want to open up in every way without realizing it. She slid her eyes over to the doctor, hoping he had not caught onto her words.
That was not the case. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched. “What did that wretched man do to you?” he asked, his voice surprisingly tender.
“Nothing.” Meg said quickly. She turned away with an ache in her chest. What had she done? If he knew what kind of actions were attempted then … then she would no longer be the golden-eyed cook, but rather a soiled rag.
“Meg.” His voice was soft. Setting down the pan of eggs he stood behind her and rested his hand on her arms. “Meg, I will not judge you. What I feel for you is admiration and respect and nothing can alter that. I want to know; I want to know everything about you. Then, I want you to tell me what to do, whether it is just to listen, or to talk to you.” He leaned down his head a little lower, his lips grazing her ear and sending shivers up Meg’s spine. “Or perhaps to go and have a not so polite word with Mr. Lars.”
Meg forced out a laugh, wondering if he knew what his words meant to her. Having experienced both cowardly abandonment and aggressive abuse, she needed what Jonathan had just given to her. She needed his gentle and kind support. He was not the kind to run off with guns blazing, but she did not want that. She’d had enough men try to show off their masculine strength, and it disturbed her. Yet she did not want a man to run off when things got hard, or uncomfortable. She needed Jonathan, an honest man who would listen, really listen and then give the choice to her as to what she needed, wanted.
“He never succeeded.” Meg said quietly, grateful that Jonathan kept his reassuring grip on her arms. “He liked the chase and so he allowed me to fight back, but with each year he tried harder. He touched more, would spout crass vulgarity, and tell me what he fantasized about doing to me. His acquaintances would do the same until Charles found out and then he would explain that I was his. Somehow that did not make things better; it only encouraged these pompous men and made me feel more like an object.” She swallowed and slid from his grasp to turn and face him. “So you see, Doctor. I am not like your perfect midwife who you loved. I am no lady who blushes at a flirtatious comment. I have slapped away more hands then you know; my skirts have been torn, my face has been bruised, and my virtue has only remained intact because my abuser was biding his time so that he could prolong the game.” She blinked rapidly, praying that tears would not come. “I am not right for you. I know my worth and I am not saying that I am below you in anyway, but we come from two completely different worlds. You are not jaded, nor roughened and calloused by the world, and I fear that I am.” She bit her lip waiting for reply, or waiting for him to just leave now that he knew what she was.
“Meg,” he said softly. “I did not think I could admire you anymore than I already did, but I was wrong. You are,” he let out a disbelieving sigh, “you are my hero.”
Meg’s brows lifted. That certainly was not the answer she expected. “Your hero?” she repeated.
“How did you survive all that? How did you put up with the disappointment and hardship that was thrown at you and still—” he waved a hand in the air, “still think about making cookies for poor children, still smile, still care, still build up others as you have done the twins.” He ran a hand through his dark curls and Meg had the sudden urge to caress those midnight locks between her fingers. Were they soft? What would his reaction be were she to entwine her fingers in his hair and pull him forward into a passionate kiss? Would he respond? Would his heart beat wildly in hunger for more?
“Meg.” He pinned her with his eyes silently pleading that she’d understand his words. “If anything, I do not feel worthy of you. My struggles have been merely working hard as a youth and feeling intimidated by my older brother, they have been nothing to what you have endured. The question is how can I deserve you? Because in truth, I don’t.”
Meg wanted to step forward. She wanted to close the small gap between them. She wanted to answer his question by tracing his jaw with her finger, then whispering in his ear what she felt towards him. She wanted to be the one to touch, to kiss, to suggest—to be free and uninhibited in her love for him. Yes, it was love! She knew it was because for so long she had lived without it. This was not just physical attraction, she’d seen that. It was not naïve infatuation—she was not the kind to have such a thing. This was the love that inspired one to share a life.
Jonathan held very still, as if sensing what she was thinking of doing, when all the sudden he let out a yelp. Smoke bellowed behind him.
“You set them on the stove?” Meg exclaimed, shoving him aside to remove the burned eggs.
“I just set them down. I didn’t think—”
He was interrupted by Meg’s laughter as she cleaned out the charred eggs. “I think, Doctor, that you may have bad luck with eggs. Perhaps we should try something else.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I think you may be right. Do you ever have bad luck? With cooking I mean?”
Meg pondered for a second before shaking her head. “Now, let’s just try a simple soup.” She pointed to a basket set up high. “Can you reach that for me?”
“Of course.” He reached up stretching his arms to retrieve the basket. Feeling that Meg was watching, he looked over to find her staring at him admiringly. “Miss Meg, did you ask me to reach this so you could further admire my physique?”
“Why Doctor McPherson, what a scandalous mind you have.”
He chuckled and handed her the basket. “Tell me, if you could have chosen any occupation, would it still have been a cook?”
Meg nodded. “I truly do love cooking. What about you? Did you always want to be a doctor regardless of what your parents wanted?”
“You know, originally I had thought about being a medical examiner. I have always liked a good mystery, and often it is the medical examiner who figures out the truth of a crime before a detective. However, I realized I preferred working with the living,” he said.
“Well, seeing
how you butchered the eggs I am surprised the living still trust you to work on them,” she teased.
“I wouldn’t have butchered the eggs if you weren’t so mesmerizing. In other words Miss Meg, you are to blame for those poor eggs.”
She shrugged and pulled some potatoes out of the basket. “Cheese and potato soup is the best when one has fresh cream and cheese.” She handed him a potato. “Considering that we are on a dairy, it is almost fool proof.”
“I am assuming you want me to peel these?”
Meg looked doubtful. “If you can manage that?”
“Oh I may not be good with eggs, but I know my way around a knife … well, a scalpel more like it. Not to mention that peeling potatoes was one of my designated chores growing up.”
Meg bent down to pull out a knife from a drawer. “That may be true, but I am still going to show you. You can’t have any peeling in the soup because it will thwart the texture. So much of our enjoyment with food deals with the texture of it.” Meg began peeling the potato at an incredibly fast pace. Jonathan’s brows lifted in surprise. “You don’t have to do it this fast,” she smiled, “but try to do downward strokes.”
Jonathan chuckled. “I don’t think I would trust you with a scalpel, Miss Meg. You perform an operation with that pace on tender flesh and—” he shuddered.
“Well a potato is quite different than tender flesh.”
“True.” Jonathan suddenly positioned himself behind her and settled his hands on hers. Meg froze.
“What are you doing?” she asked as his right hand began guiding hers in smooth, slow strokes.
“Giving you a medical lesson,” he nearly whispered in her ear. “Some things are better to take your time with.” He slowly pressed on her hand guiding it to shave off one peel. “Not all things need to be rushed. Were this an operation, I would work softly—” Another slice. “Slowly.” Meg swallowed as his chest pressed against her back. “I would make sure that I did not hurt anything, that I treated every part with intense consideration.”
Meg was pretty sure she had stopped breathing. Her hands shook under his as her body melted against his own. “Ahh, I see. Were I to need … medical attention? Would you be as thorough, and thoughtful, as you are right now in peeling this potato?” She was not quite sure what she was asking, but she knew she wanted the answer.
“Ahh, Miss Meg.” He guided her into another slice. “I would make sure that you were completely satisfied with my performance.”
Meg pushed against him, escaping the tense proximity of his body. She placed a hand on her stomach in an attempt to sooth the nerves that were screaming for more.
“Yes, well … I think you obviously get the idea on how to peel potatoes.”
Jonathan eyed her curiously. “Are you afraid of me, Miss Meg?”
She tripped on her feet, grasping the counter to steady herself. “Excuse me? Why would I be scared of you?”
Jonathan looked hesitant. He took a small step then stopped. “You tell me?”
Meg’s eyebrow arched. “I can assure you Dr. McPherson that I am not afraid of you. I simply have work to do.”
She tried to turn away, but he touched her shoulder causing her to halt. “Meg, I need you to know that I care for you, and I wish to court you and win your affections—your love.” Meg’s eyes widened. He drew closer and cupped her face in his hands. She tried to catch her breath but failed. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to, so much that it hurt.
“I knew meeting you was serendipitous from the first time I saw you. When God gave me a second chance by sending you to Tall Pine, I felt my universe shift as my soul ached for you. You are my missing piece. The very one to complete my existence. I know what it is like to be afraid, to fear rejection, to fear exposing yourself only to be abandoned.” He drew his face closer to hers, his lips barely grazing her own. “But I am willing to take a chance, and I pray you have the courage to do so as well.”
Jonathan felt Meg lift onto her toes, her eyes closing as she allowed him to move closer, his lips barely touching hers.
She would kiss him!
Yes, she would!
Just as her lips began to part he pulled himself away, grinning as she opened her eyes and nearly tipped over. “I have a house call to make.
Meg glared. “Why … what was … what did you mean … why did you...”
He picked up his hat. “I didn’t become a doctor, Meg, by being a fool. I told you how I felt. The next move is yours. When you’re ready.” He walked over picking up the bag of bread they had wrapped in individual papers with string bows. “And by the way, call me Jonathan.”
Thirty–One
Rose was kneading dough with too much effort while she stared out the window watching her husband’s broad back flex as he worked on the fence. Daisy was playing on a sheep’s wool looking at a toy Cade had made her. Rose picked up the dough and slammed it on the wooden board. She was not interested in cooking today, and she certainly was caring less and less about that dang fence.
How did Cade expect to fix their marriage if he was never around her? Not that she wanted him to be around. She liked him gone, of course. And he was gone—all the time. Sheriff Ben was dragging him all over Tall Pine teaching him the locations, the trails, and leads to a few cases, especially the rustling of cattle that was becoming more prolific in Tall Pine and nearby counties. When Cade was not with Sheriff Ben, he was reading, or when he and Rose visited her family, Cade disappeared to have long, private talks with Jeffries. The rest of the time he was working on that awful fence.
She narrowed her eyes as she saw one of Beth’s arms reach up and brush something off Cade’s brow. Rose’s full lips pressed so tightly against each other that it hurt.
“Shameless,” she growled, “I don’t care if her husband is lazy and demanding. What kind of woman flirts wantonly after a married man?”
Daisy cooed in response and Rose thrust the dough into a pan and set it to rise. She looked over at the plate of cookies Beth had given to Cade the other day. Rose hated that they were delicious, fluffy, sweet, and delectable. She looked out the window again. Beth could be described as sweet and delectable. Perhaps Cade liked her company, enjoyed her overt affections. She was lovely, after all. Rose turned away from the kitchen and scooped up Daisy. Rose was pretty, too, as pretty as Beth—at least she used to think that.
Unable to help herself, she glanced in the mirror. Beth had popular beauty: youthful with a round face and rosy cheeks. Rose’s features were powerful; they demanded attention, but in no way expressed the nature of a docile woman.
“I lost my husband to gambling,” Rose told Daisy. “By no means will I lose him again to another woman.” She stared at the mirror. What was she saying? She did not really want Cade, did she? This was pride. Silly pride that some other woman was even thinking she could compete against Rose.
A feral grin spread across Rose’s lips. Cade could and would do whatever he wanted, but if he lost her to gambling again, or if he chose another woman, she would make sure he knew what he was losing. With a slight swagger to her step Rose walked over to the closet and pulled out her blue dress, the one with the square neck.
Rose was getting impatient by the time she saw Cade striding home. She’d dressed Daisy in a green dress that showed off her eyes, and on herself, she’d dabbed just enough rouge on her lips and cheeks to make them glow.
This was not for Cade, she told herself again. This was for her own pride. She would not have Beth flaunt her façade of cheerful innocence while Rose stood in the house and watched in a dirty apron.
“I am drawing a bath,” Cade shouted from the kitchen. She could hear his footsteps pause, probably looking at the table where Rose had taken extra care to make it look nice.
“I’ll be quick,” he added.
Rose checked the mirror one more time before sweeping up Daisy and walking out the front door to enjoy the cool breeze sweeping over the small crop of vegetables and the aspen trees surrounding
their house. It would be beautiful in the autumn, when the white bark on the aspens began to peel and the leaves turned gold, casting a yellow light on everything.
She squinted against the setting sun to where the home of Beth stood proudly against a backdrop of flowered hills boring against a cascade of mountains. The home was at least a half mile away, but that darned fence stood out like a sore thumb. Why was he working so hard on it? There was really no reason to other than being neighborly.
Too neighborly!
The heavy trot of a black and white pinto caught Rose’s attention. She held a hand over her eyes to see the figure of a man riding towards them at a steady trot. He was too short for Jeffries or her father, and both of them rode large bays. She walked out to greet her visitor and lifted her brows when he took off his hat.
“Mr. Hugh,” she grinned. “What brings you out here?”
“A house warming gift, Mrs. Walker.” He slid off his horse and produced from a saddlebag a package wrapped in brown paper. “The best angus beef in the county. I know your husband only recently found work, and considering you are living in this old place—well, I am guessing he’s not building railroads.”
Rose smiled politely. “Well, thank you, please do come in.”
“Thank you. Mind you, I cannot stay long. I promised mother I would be home in time for dinner.”
Rose stifled a smile at the thought of Jessica Hugh’s reaction when Phillip told her where he’d been. “Does your mother know that I am, that my husband, is-—”
“Everyone knows. It is in the Tall Pine Weekly.” He held up his hand waving it through the air like wiping a window. “Railway Detective Cade Walker moves to Tall Pine for a new start with his adopted daughter, the niece of Rose Walker. One has to admire the generosity of such a family man.”
The Ways of Heaven Page 19