High Plains Wife

by Jillian Hart

  Life had taught him a fateful lesson on the subject of love. He had a heart irrevocably broken to prove it.

  “Nick, would you like some coffee?” Mariah’s shoulder brushed his as she reached past him to fill the coffee cup. Fiery sensation skidded down his arm, setting him aflame. This is a bad thing, Gray. A bad path you’re looking at. A smart man would know better than to make that choice again. He closed his eyes for the few seconds it took to get his reaction to her under control.

  When he opened his eyes, the cup on the table in front of him was full of dark, steaming coffee. Mariah was moving away to pour coffee for the other men, her arm caressing his shoulder again. It was such a light brush it may have only been her sleeve touching his, yet he felt the impact of it as if it was a sweet kiss on his soul.

  Oh, Mariah. This reaction to her had nothing to do with her hair soft as an angel’s around her face. Nothing to do with the dress that hugged her like a lover and made her eyes so blue it hurt to look at them. This had everything to do with that tiny seed of love buried in his heart, a seed that had gone dormant for so long he’d thought it to be dead, without life, never to return.

  What a fool he’d been.

  Pop was talking to Will and Dakota about the horses, and wanted Nick’s thoughts on the matter. They could use a new stud—and what did he think about the auction next week in the neighboring county? Nick answered without thinking, acting as if he were a part of the conversation when all he could think about was Mariah.

  The clink of her spoon in her cup as she stirred sugar into her coffee. The whisper of her breathing. The faint scent of lilacs that made him remember how he’d reached out and kissed her. Claimed her as his. Hauled her close and kissed her until they were both breathless and he was melting from the inside out.

  Time to get out of here. Get some distance between him and Mariah. Get some breathing room. Cool down and try to figure this out.

  “I’ll be upstairs.” He didn’t look right or left, up or down. Figured everyone would know he was going to check on his children, even though he could hear the muffled sounds of their voices as he moved closer. They were playing in their rooms, as they often did before bedtime. They were fine.

  He wasn’t.

  Even the hallway reminded him of Mariah. Of how she’d stood in the threshold dressed for bed, looking so soft and vulnerable and desirable. The bedroom door was wide open, the long, webby light before sundown painting the large room in a pink glow. The white curtains shone rose, tinting the white coverlet on the bed. Those things were Mariah’s—Lida had preferred dark colors—but the bedstead was the same. The rich, cherry four-poster that his children had been born in. The matching bureau and chest of drawers. Familiar, and yet he hadn’t looked at them much in years. This had been his bedroom once, and that his marriage bed.

  The soft pad of little feet on the carpet warned him before Georgie slipped her hand around his first finger and held tight. “Pa? Why’s Mariah sleepin’ in Mama’s room?”

  “Because she’s nice, and I don’t want to make her sleep on the couch.” He knelt so he could look her in the eye.

  “Where’s Mama gonna sleep when she gets back from heaven?”

  He coughed, struck by surprise at how deep the pain went, like a blade twisting through his guts. “When folks get to heaven, it’s not a place they come back from. It’s not like going to town.”

  “Not like shopping?”

  “That right. It’s a place where you stay forever.” He brushed the curls from her eyes.

  Her big eyes filled with tears. “An ox and wagon can’t get there?”

  “That’s right.” At least she was starting to understand. “Mariah’s gonna stay and take care of you from here on out. Is that fine by you?”

  “Y-yeah.” Georgie dove head-first toward his chest and he opened his arms, pulling her close.

  So dear and fragile. He cradled her against his heart, wishing he could right every wrong just for her. For his little girl.

  Later that night, as he lay awake in his lonely bed, he stared at the ceiling. The house was silent, everyone tucked safely asleep. Everyone but him. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop remembering that she was in bed wearing her white nightgown with ruffles at the hem. And beneath that cotton garment would be Mariah, and nothing but skin. Creamy and soft everywhere. He quaked from crown to sole, rocked by an emotion too powerful to name. Too overwhelming to feel. Too dangerous to let spark to life in his heart.

  Stop thinking about her. He threw back the covers, breathing hard, half aroused and getting harder and hotter. Now that he’d imagined Mariah naked, all soft curves and ivory skin, he couldn’t think of anything else.

  You’ve got more willpower than this, Gray. He grabbed his coat at the back door, jammed his feet into his boots and headed outside. Let the cool night rain whip across his heated face. He stood in the shadows until he shivered. Until his desire to be loved and wanted by Mariah slipped away like a leaf in the wind.

  He had to be practical. He had to do what was right. He had a family to take care of and a ranch to run. A wife might be a necessity, but loving her wasn’t. He figured that with Mariah as his wife, he’d never be in danger of losing his heart. Not again.

  But he was wrong. He was as vulnerable to her as he’d been to Lida. He hated that. Hated it to the far side of his soul. Bitterness soured in his mouth like week-old milk, and he couldn’t spit out the taste of it. He started walking into the darkness until something powerful stopped him. The sight of headstones at the family graveyard, dark and lonely in the drizzling rain. His stepmother’s grave alongside Lida’s. And her baby’s. The poor sickly newborn boy that hadn’t been his.

  The betrayal pierced like a barb through his skin and rage exploded in his chest. Rage, because it was a whole lot easier to feel than the hurt that had troubled him day and night through the long years of his marriage. The knowledge that the man he was and the love he felt had never been enough to keep Lida faithful. He’d never been enough to keep her heart.

  He’d be damned if he let another woman do that to him.

  Mariah. He may have married the wrong woman, but that didn’t mean he’d let her have that kind of power over him. That kind of ability to hurt.

  “Nick?” Speak of the she-devil. There she was, soft as an angel in that pure white nightgown, with her black shawl draped over her shoulders.

  She moved toward him, and it was as if she called not to him but to his heart. He could feel it lurch in his chest, like an infant’s first breath, startling him, warming him, flooding him with feeling, and he knew how the world felt the day the sun was made to first rise and give light to the dark.

  He tried to speak, but couldn’t say her name. He couldn’t find the words to say anything, his chest so full and his heart breaking as she walked through the rain. His anguish didn’t touch her. Didn’t chill her. Didn’t diminish her until she was in his arms, warm and damp all at once, small and powerful. When she touched him, she touched the most essential part of his soul. And if he opened up now to her, accepted her comfort and her love and everything she had to offer, then he’d be laid open completely, every part of him. He’d be more vulnerable than Lida had ever made him. This was the power Mariah had over him.

  He could hold her close or push her away. Open himself to heartache or stand alone, on his own two feet, with no comfort and no grace on a night without stars or moonlight to guide him. Just the colorless rain in a night so dark it felt without hope.

  Knowing the conclusion he had to make, he tore away from Mariah’s embrace and chose the dark. Chose the best path for all of them. Rain sluiced down his face, blinding him, but he kept walking. He didn’t stop until Mariah was but a brief shadow against the endless night and his heart was as cold as the wind.

  Chapter Ten

  All night long Mariah held on to the image of Nick striding away from her in the rain, a solitary figure with wide shoulders set, as unconquerable as the darkness. She’d watc
hed him disappear into the night, becoming one with the distance and shadows. She’d waited for him in the rain for more than an hour before she retreated to the kitchen and finally to her bed. She’d lain awake until it was nearly time to rise for the day without hearing his return.

  But in the morning when she’d come downstairs to the dark kitchen, a fire crackled merrily in the stove, newly lit, with the oven lid left ajar to let in air. Nick had done that—he’d lit the fire. He’d been here. That meant he was all right. Relief left her dizzy as she added more wood to the cheerful flames, closed the oven door and dug in the pantry for biscuit makings. She’d been worried about him. He’d been in too much pain last night, staring at the silhouetted gravestones cast against the stormy sky.

  She hurt for him. She had felt his pain last night the moment she’d touched him. She’d gone to him like water in a riverbed, pulled by some unseen current, only knowing that there was no other way to go. He’d accepted her, allowed her to sink against his chest and wrap her arms around his sides, to hold him and comfort him. The sorrow inside him felt enormous, and he’d pushed away from her. Moved away. Didn’t look back.

  Why had he turned away from her? Did any act of comfort hurt him? Was it his grief for Lida that made him break away?

  Or did it mean he didn’t need comfort from her? She didn’t have the faintest notion. She grabbed a big wooden spoon and blended the ingredients well.

  “Mornin’, Miss Mariah.” Jeb studied her warily, as if he still wasn’t quite willing to trust her. He was a cautious man. “Mighty good coffee I smell. Suppose I’ll pour me a cup.”

  “Is that a compliment you just paid me?”

  “Nope. Why would I go and do somethin’ like that for? A man appreciates coffee, is all. It’s hot. That’s all that matters.” He grabbed the pot off the stove. “If you’re fishing for praise, then I’d say it’s passable.”

  Passable? Mariah almost believed him until he marched to the lean-to, cursed his stiff back when he knelt to tug on his boots, then let the door slam shut behind him. Taking the coffeepot to the barn with him.

  Maybe the coffee was more than passable. That made her smile, just a little, as she wiped out the mixing bowl. Would Jeb get all the way to the stable before he figured out he’d forgotten to take any cups?

  Boots drummed up the back steps. There he was. She left the bowl on the worktable and scooped four cups from the upper shelf. One for each of the Gray men already hard at work. They were her family now, and she intended to take care of them whether they liked it or not.

  “Nick.” She skidded to a stop in her tracks, holding the cups in midair. He was nothing more than a shadowed form in the dark lean-to, but she would know the look of him, the shape of him, the feel of him, anywhere. It was as though their hearts were connected and she could feel his sorrow like it was her own. “Were you out all night?”

  “Took a long walk. When I came back, I slept in the barn.” He stayed in the shadows, away from the light. “How are my kids?”

  “Sleeping soundly last time I checked.” She set the cups on the edge of the table. With her hands empty, she didn’t know if she should go to him or stay where she was. To touch him and try to comfort him or to leave him alone. “I’d offer you some coffee to warm you up, but your father took the coffeepot.”

  “Yeah, I saw him. I came in to change. My clothes are wet through.”

  “Oh, sure. Do you want me to heat some wash water?”

  “No. I’ll take it cold.” He prowled in a wide arc around her, like a panther wary of an adversary, sure of its dominance but not looking for a fight.

  The lamplight caught him, showing his hair dark with rain and his wet shirt clinging to his chest. He’d been like this all night? She ached for him and the pain he was in. If she knew how to take the grief from him, she would. Only time would dull the pain, but it would never repair the loss.

  How deeply he must have loved Lida to be grieving her so completely. What a good heart he had to love so. It made Mariah love him even more.

  “Cold water’ll be fine.” He grabbed the full pail beneath the pump and turned his back on her. Marched away.

  He’s hurting, Mariah told herself. That’s why he’s keeping distance between us. It was perfectly natural. Completely reasonable. She’d married him knowing he was newly widowed and he wasn’t ready to love again. Not yet.

  All things came in good time, and this would be no different. He wasn’t trying to avoid her, she realized. He needed her. He needed to count on her. To rely on her. To know his children were cared for and his house was in order.

  That’s what he needed from her, for now. And he needed a thousand other small things, kind words and gentle touches and understanding. Her love for him was big enough to wait. Strong enough to shelter him. Patient enough to love him without condition. Until he was ready to love her in return.

  She’d vowed before God to love and honor Nick.

  Love and honor him, she would.

  Mariah. Everywhere Nick went, there were reminders of her. His freshly laundered clothes in his bureau, folded with preciseness and care, as Mariah did with everything.

  He slipped into the clean dry shirt. He could hear the faint clatter of the stove burner; the clump of wood being placed in the fire. The whistle of the tea-kettle cutting off as she lifted it from the heat. Those telltale signs that a woman was in the room below him…and that woman was his wife. The one woman he never should have married. The woman he never should have kissed.

  He regretted that impulsive action more than anything. His groin pulsed from thinking about the warm velvet heat of her mouth beneath his and how a single kiss had made him hungry for more. For the sight of Mariah in her nightgown all spread out on his bed, her golden hair curling across his pillow, her gazing up at him with those fathomless blue eyes. Surrendering to him as he unbuttoned the tiny round buttons that marched from neckline to waist right between her enticing breasts.

  He groaned, aroused, hard as wood from thought and not from the deed of undressing her. He hadn’t even undressed her in his mind, hadn’t gotten past those damn buttons to the breasts beneath. Look at him. Look how he wanted her. He was weak with it and shaking with it, hurting and confused.

  He left his shirt untucked and headed down the hall. The doors to both Georgie’s and Joey’s rooms were shut tight, and all was quiet within, judging by the sound of it. His son, so burdened with responsibility and grief. His daughter still hurting. He’d made the decision to marry Mariah for their sakes.

  Was this all one big mistake? He couldn’t shake the feeling it was, and it troubled him down deep. He felt as though he was still up the creek without a paddle and being swept right for that waterfall. If he plunged over the edge, it didn’t matter much. But his children…

  No, he had to keep them safe. Do what was best for them. But what?

  He’d thought Mariah was a solution to his troubles, but now she was another person in his boat, heading down the rapids toward disaster. He didn’t know which way to steer them in. Which way to lead his family to safety.

  It was a damn bad way for a man to feel. Powerless. Lost. Wishing he’d made smarter decisions.

  No, he never should have married Mariah. He couldn’t fight that thought as he headed downstairs. As he avoided her in the kitchen by going out the front door.

  And it would have worked, too, but he’d left his boots and coat at the kitchen door and had to head back through the parlor.

  There she was, looking like sunrise in a new calico work dress, one she must have purchased ready-made from the dressmaker’s. Nothing fancy. No, not Mariah. Lida would have charged up a bill large enough to choke a horse with fancy gowns and ribbons and gloves and hats to match. But Mariah, she was too sensible. She’d chosen a light yellow calico with tiny blue rosebuds scattered all over. The only trim was a small lace-edged collar.

  She’s not Lida, remember that. He stopped to gather what wits he still possessed before he strolled i
nto the kitchen.

  “Nick.” Mariah turned from the stove, even though he’d hardly made a sound. As if she’d been listening for his approach. “Joey’s been invited to Rayna’s son’s birthday party. I thought I’d take him to town early to pick up a gift at the mercantile.”

  “Fine.”

  “Is there anything you need me to pick up for you? I didn’t think to ask yesterday.” She turned strips of bacon efficiently while she talked, and still looked beautiful doing it.

  He saw the woman and not the wife. Why did he want her so much? “Don’t worry. If I need something, I’ll get it.”

  He sounded too harsh and he knew it. He could hear his voice boom like thunder.

  Mariah stared at him with wide eyes. “Fine. I’ll remember that.”

  She wasn’t prickly or sharp-tongued or so proud she set his teeth on edge. She was surprised and sounded a little hurt. Not so tough-skinned, after all.

  That made him feel more than terrible as he stalked to the door. Didn’t bother to put his boots on first, just grabbed them and headed out the door. The porch steps were damp from last night’s downpour and his socks were damp before he took two steps. He stood leaning against the rail tugging one boot on and then the other.

  Damn it, what was happening to his life? To the life he hadn’t liked but had been used to? Lida and he had gotten so good at their separate lives, there had been only minor hitches from time to time.