by Jillian Hart
His arm came around her, holding her against him. Georgie’s sobs silenced and her tears dried.
Hope. It was all around them.
Hope and love.
More grateful than she could find the words to say, Mariah kissed Nick’s chest, right over the dependable beat of his heart.
His fingers curled around her nape, holding her. Holding on.
Nick. Mariah thought of nothing else all afternoon. When she chatted with Rayna, shopped and later met with Betsy at the house in town, Nick was in the back of her mind if not in the forefront. The sight of him working bare-chested in the field, with the sunlight caressing his brown skin. Or the image of him standing in Georgie’s bedroom, cradling her in his steely arms, protecting her, comforting her, a man made even stronger because of his tenderness.
Nick hadn’t come to supper. Will had some other excuse, and this time Mariah didn’t rush out to find her husband and force food on him. If he needed time and space, she would give that to him. Remembering how hard he’d hugged her in Georgie’s room, remembering the need she felt inside him, made it easier. Nick needed her. That was all that mattered.
Clink. The sound of the plate striking the edge of the basin startled her out of her thoughts. The evening kitchen was pleasantly quiet around her, steeped in shadows, the lamp on the counter casting enough light to work by. The murmur of the children’s voices rose and fell in an upstairs room, vibrating through the floorboards, where they played a game of cards with their uncles.
A feeling of contentment filled her. This married life was nothing compared to what she’d thought it would be. Somehow she’d thought it would be easier, not the work, but the people part of it. Like a well run Ladies’ Aid meeting.
Fine, she’d been wrong about the depth of marriage life, of being a wife and a mother. She had only her own childhood to judge by. The cold distance of her parents’ marriage shocked her now. Never, under any circumstance, would her father have held her when she cried. No, he was more likely to scold her into silence, if not raise a hand to her. Never would he have cradled his wife to his chest, with need in his heart and in his touch.
The only thing her father had ever cradled was a whiskey bottle.
What a gift she’d been given with this new life. The ring on her hand, the vows she’d made and the pattern of her days taking care of these people. Of living with them. And coming to love them a little bit more each day. Her chest ached with the power of it, her poor heart as cracked as an iced-over pond facing the spring thaw. Fissures and fractures and wide broken spaces that let in the sunshine and the darkness, the warmth and the cold.
The love and the pain. Mariah wasn’t sure she cared for it, feeling this way wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but she was grateful. She could have lived her entire life in her house that rattled with emptiness, dusting knickknacks and tatting dollies and never have known what it was like to want to love a man so much it was in every breath. In every heartbeat. In every thought.
Jeb’s hitching gait padded down the hall and into the shadowed corner of the kitchen. Mariah slipped the plate into the rinse water and plunged her hands back into the suds. Jeb’s dislike for her was at least less noticeable since she’d made his coffee the way he liked it.
She kept her attention on scrubbing every inch of the plate, getting it nice and clean. She didn’t want to look up to see the pained look on Jeb’s face. The look that said he thought Nick had made a mistake in choosing her. It hurt, but she’d do her best by Jeb regardless of his opinion of her.
“Would you like me to put on some coffee? The water’s hot in the kettle for tea.”
“My sweet tooth’s troublin’ me. Thought I might want some of those baked goods you picked up in town.” Jeb regarded her with caution, as if she were a poisonous snake coiled to strike and he wasn’t looking to be bit.
“Good idea. I should set the box out.” She flicked the soap bubbles off her fingertips and dried her hands on the nearby towel, but Jeb had marched right past her.
“I’ll take care of it, ma’am.”
Surely dealing with Nick’s family would get easier. Right? Her stomach was a tight ball when she turned back to her work. The children’s voices rose in glee a few minutes after Jeb ambled upstairs with the baker’s box full of iced cookies.
Cookies she’d let Georgie pick out. Any kind. Until the box was full. Mariah had paid for the treat out of her own money. She and Nick hadn’t even spoken about the practicalities of money and getting her name on the store accounts in town. Somehow that hurt, and she didn’t know why.
She rinsed the last plate and set it on the board to drain. As she reached for the first pan, she felt a sensation prickle at the top of her spine. A tingle of awareness a second before the back door opened.
Nick. She could feel him as if he were a part of her. How could that be? It made no sense. Never, in all of her women’s clubs and groups she’d attended over the years, had any one of the members spoken about this connection between a man and a woman. Not only sexual, not merely romantic. Something different. Something more.
The round curve of her left shoulder burned and, sure enough, when Nick crossed the dark room to her, that was the exact place where he placed his hand. A welcome weight that made her shine inside, where she was dark without him.
“Sorry I missed supper.” He spoke in her ear and she shivered. “That probably makes more work for you.”
“Sure. I had to dish up a plate and put it in the warmer. I’m exhausted from the strain of it.”
“I appreciate the sacrifice.” His chuckle lashed through her and sank deep like a hook, binding her to him. Her hair caught on his whisker-stubbled jaw as his arms snaked around her waist from behind. “You are sure a sight for weary eyes, ma’am, lookin’ mighty fine in that dress.”
“Really?”
“Yep. You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“I’m the only woman in the room.”
“Who has ever been in this room,” he corrected, and the whisper of sensation across her temple had to be a kiss, just the hint of it. He released her, walking away casually, as if reaching for her had been the most natural thing on earth.
“Sit down, let me get that for you.” The pots needed to soak, and she wanted to spend time with her husband. “I’ve got hot water for tea?”
“Perfect.” Nick eased into a chair with a sigh. “Damn, I’m tired. Took all day to get that section of the fence repaired. If you can trust gossip, then the stud I’d give my eyeteeth to have will be comin’ up for sale at the next county auction.”
“The one your father mentioned?”
“Yup.” Nick leaned back in his chair, exhausted to the bone. So sore he wondered if he could get back on his feet again. “The stud’s as wild as they come, but he’s got breeding. His daddy was one of the best cutters in the territory. I’m busting my back trying to get a corral done in time that’ll hold him. Did Joey behave better today?”
Mariah stiffened. “He tried hard. It’s going to take him time to accept me.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She closed the warmer door and swept toward him through the light and into the shadows, the lamplight clinging to her like mist in the morning air. “Joey is doing fine, considering what’s happened. Losing one mother and gaining a stepmother almost immediately can’t be easy.”
She set the plate in front of him, heaped with thick slices of roast, potatoes seasoned in their skins and gleaming with melted butter, a half dozen of her biscuits that were so damn fluffy it could make a man get down on his knees to thank her. A pile of green beans mixed with onions and bacon, just the way he liked them.
She returned with a cup of gravy and a plate of tomatoes sliced and sugared.
All that she’d done for him, and now she was steeping his tea. As bright as the moonlight, as gentle as the night air. He wasn’t used to being treated like this.
“I’ll steep a cup of tea for me, if
you want company.” She gazed at him through her lashes, the question sounding casual, but it was more.
He was no fool. He knew what she was asking. And truth be told, he was tired, he was sore, he was heartsick and she made all of it go away. “Sure. I’ve gotten used to eating a late supper alone. Don’t much like it.”
She brought the light with her, the lamp from the worktable, the flame flickering on the wick as she set it on the table. Her hands were small and soft and… Don’t go thinking like that, man. He stared at his plate, concentrating on cutting the slices of roast beef, instead of the way the light danced across the soft shape of her—her hair, her face, her throat, her breasts…
He stared harder at the potatoes. They possibly might taste better with gravy. Yep, that’s what he needed. That rich thick gravy Mariah made….
Her skirts whispered as she took the chair at his side. So close he could feel her body heat on his skin, although they were not touching.
“I helped Betsy today. There’s a lot she has to learn about taking over my business.”
Mariah started talking with that incredible mouth of hers. No, he wasn’t thinking about her mouth. About how incredible those satin-soft lips had tasted. How the brush of her mouth to his made his blood heat and stirred to life a need inside of him he wasn’t sure he could control.
“…and the house, I think it would be better for her to live in town. Since she’s been widowed, she’s been living with her folks…”
He ate, but he didn’t taste the delicious roast she’d seasoned and the biscuits that melted on his tongue. Her voice vibrated through him like a string on a fiddle plucked hard and left to resonate. Her mouth was soft and supple and knew just how to fit against his.
He wanted her mouth more than any single thing in this county. He was tired and aching, inside and out, and he’d done nothing but think about her all day. With every swing of the hammer. Every beat of the ax into wood. Mariah. Seeing her in the windows as she moved through the house. Watching her drive off in the surrey with his children. Knowing he could trust her to be where she said and do what she promised. Mariah might be wearing new dresses and wearing her hair down, but she was still the same inside. And he wanted her. The way a man wants to love his wife. Body and soul, complete possession.
No good could come from going down that path. He knew it. But that didn’t stop him from wanting. From needing.
Her hand covered his, a touch of understanding. He didn’t need to say the words. It was as if she could read his silence. Without a sound, she stood, withdrawing only to circle around behind him. The brush of her fingertips skimmed the back of his neck where tired muscles had kinked into a painful knot.
“You worked hard today.” There was a smile in her voice. Her skirts rustled and her mouth brushed where her fingers had been. The heated velvet of her kiss made him forget all about his aching muscles. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. His throat had seized up. His lungs stopped working. He closed his eyes, the meal in front of him forgotten, waiting, tingling, quivering, for her next kiss.
There. Soft silk, the outline of her lips on his flesh. Hot and tender, and he fisted his hands to keep from leaping off the chair and hauling Mariah into his arms.
“Did you like that?”
She sounded so uncertain. Completely unaware of her power over him. She wasn’t trying to manipulate him. This was Mariah, straightforward and dependable and as steady as the sun. She might not be the wife he’d envisioned, but she was the one he’d always dreamed of. The one who seemed to know what he needed before he did. The woman who could make him feel again after he was certain his heart had died right along with his faith in women.
Her fingertips waltzed between the vertebra in his neck. Twirled slow and sensual in the tight muscles where his shoulders met. Her touch was like magic, replacing pain with pleasure. Her kiss to his neck, the curve of his shoulder, the hollow behind his ear, was like faith newly given.
He wanted her. With everything he was. Every bit of his being. Every inch of his body. He was hard and hungry and had been celibate for over five long years. He bounded out of his seat, blind with need, kicked the chair aside and hauled Mariah hard against him. She fell against him with a gasp of surprise and a smile of delight. He kissed that smile. Kissed her hot mouth that molded to his as if she were made for him. Maybe she was.
She melted against him, and he cupped a hand at her hip, holding her to the part of him that was hard and growing harder. He wanted her. He knew it wasn’t wise, wasn’t smart. He was probably making another huge mistake he was going to regret, but Mariah’s kiss was like a poison in his body, taking over, making him crazy and weak and shaking with a desire so strong, there was no logic.
There was only the sweet taste of her tongue as he sucked the tip of it into his mouth. He needed the soft comfort of her love and her body the way the earth needed the sun. He ran his hand over her throat, along her collarbone, down her arm and up her side, his thumb curving over the rise and the peak of her breast. Her nipple pebbled beneath the pad of his thumb. He groaned, shaken to the soul by this proof that she wanted him. The same way he wanted her.
He kissed her deep, cupping both hands at her hips, rocking her against his arousal, hard and throbbing. The soft curve of her stomach made him crazy, but he kissed her slow and deep, fighting for control. He had to stay in control. Mariah was a maiden, and this was new to her. He gritted his teeth, holding on, overcome at the pleasure as they rocked together. He needed her. Only her.
Those buttons marching from her collar to her waist were troubling him. If he just released a few of them, then he could kiss his way down her throat to the swell of her breasts. When he kissed the sensitive curve beneath her chin, she moaned in pleasure. Her fingers curled in his shirt.
“Like that, huh?” he murmured against her throat.
“Nope. I hate it. I’m just submitting like a good wife.”
“Teasing me, are you?” He blew gently against the dip at the column of her throat and she shivered. He laved the spot with his tongue then blew again.
He felt the pleasure shiver through her and into him.
“Fine. If you don’t want me to kiss you, I’ll stop.”
“No! Don’t you dare.” She grabbed his head and held him there, offering him her throat and her breasts. And more. So much more.
Tenderness left him dizzy as he popped the top buttons of her dress with one hand. The fabric fell away to reveal a lace-edged corset cupping full creamy breasts that were so beautiful they couldn’t be real. Just a dream. Just as she was.
“Mariah,” he rasped her name, and he didn’t care if his voice was raw with his feelings. He felt like a man who’d been lost in a distant and vast desert for an entire decade and here was his first sight of home. This woman was what his scarred heart had been craving, and she was the only one who could make the pieces whole.
She tugged down the fabric, loosening stays so he could free her from the garment. Lush, rose-tipped breasts filled his hands and he feasted on them, taking one nipple into his mouth and then the other. He loved the way she arched up, making little sounds of pleasure deep in her throat. Her fingers wound through his hair, holding him to her breasts.
What are you doing, Gray? He tore away, breathing hard, blind with need.
It took all his willpower to fold the scraps of lace over her breasts, and every drop of control he had to fasten the buttons and step away.
Embarrassed by his weakness, he didn’t know what to say. Was thankful for the shadows that hid his face from hers.
“Good night.” He didn’t know what else to say. How to explain his desire for her.
And why he’d married her.
Mariah was a good woman, and he wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t going to let her see the man he truly was.
“You sleep well, all right?” He kissed her nose, tenderness welling up like water in a well, rising higher and higher, pure and deep. “I’ll
see you in the morning.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll take the plate with me.” He grabbed the flatware and his food and strode away, steady and strong as he always did.
Except this time he took her heart with him.
Mariah stood in the shadows a long while, waiting. Hoping that he’d come back for her.
He didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
Mariah stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept replaying what happened in the kitchen over and over again. It wasn’t where he touched or how he touched her.
It was the way he made her feel, as if by the caress of his fingertips and the brush of his lips he could call forth some magic spell that made her feel how he loved her. And made her heart open like the wild roses that cover the prairie come summer, from hibernating root to the first tender bud.
She wanted to know that kind of love. The kind that felt ready to blossom in her heart. It hurt, the thought of waiting. And what about Nick? He was hurting. He was still hurting. She knew it. She could feel it as steady as the night all around her, in every beat of her pulse through her veins.
He wasn’t all right. He’d reached out to her tonight. He’d needed her. She wanted to help him take away the pain like a soothing balm that heals a wound. Not that she was presumptuous enough to think she could heal the grief from a ten year marriage, but she could offer him all he needed to find comfort. To find the path back to being able to love again, with a whole heart.
She listened to the eaves creak in the wind. The sounds of the night deepened. Nick had reached out to her with his need tonight. Should she take the risk of reaching out to him? Would he pull her close, or send her away? Love her, or reject her?
Fear of his rejection kept her in bed, clutching her blanket in the dark.
He’d never felt so alone and it hurt like a thousand blades in his flesh, imbedded deep. Nick didn’t know how to fix it besides heading downstairs to the liquor cabinet and drowning his pain with whiskey. A temporary solution, but anything was better than this unrelenting pain.