St. John, Cheryl

by Prairie Wife

  With the muted sounds of life beneath her, Amy undressed and crawled into bed. She went through the routine she had devised, thinking about the chores she had to do the following day and not about what had already transpired.

  But the image of Jesse riding through the rain, sliding from his horse and looking her over, wedged its way past her guard. She saw his face, blue eyes squinted against the rain that drizzled from the brim of his hat, the set of his jaw and his unspoken relief. She had a man who loved her beyond her failings and her barren heart. Few people in this sorry world were loved that completely—that unselfishly. Any other woman—a whole woman—would glory in that.

  Rain poured from the heavens and soaked into the earth. Heat blazed from the stoves and the fireplace; light gleamed from the outbuildings and every window of the house except hers. But within this room, within this heart, it was dry and cold and dark.

  And for the first time Amy recognized dimly, as though looking through a gauzy veil, that hers was a heart condition that hurt as much as anything physical. And maybe more.

  ***

  A rainbow was a beautiful thing. Jesse squinted at the ethereal colors from the corner of the corral. Birds sang morning greetings and the countryside smelled clean and alive.

  His head throbbed and his tongue felt like he'd chewed sawdust half the night. Even dunking his head in the rain barrel hadn't cleared the morning-after cobwebs.

  Half an hour ago a Concord coach had arrived from the West, dispatched by telegraph for the sole purpose of picking up a particular passenger, but seven others would benefit from the ride, as well.

  A man Jesse recognized as one they'd brought from the train and served in the kitchen last night appeared from the barn, a leather satchel in hand. He wore a tailored black suit coat and trousers, a white shirt and shiny tie, fancier garb than was the norm in these parts.

  "I owe you, your wife and father-in-law a debt of gratitude, Mr. Shelby." He placed his bag on the ground and extended a hand. "Castlewhite's the name."

  Jesse shook his hand. "Call me Jesse. Pleased everything turned out all right."

  "I own a few investments in Denver City," the man said, leaning back on his heels. "A hotel among them. The White Castle Hotel."

  "I believe I've heard of it."

  "Consider it your home whenever you chance to be in my city, Jesse. There will always be a room and meals for the Shelbys."

  "Thank you, Mr. Castlewhite. I'll keep that in mind."

  "Give," he said with a grin.

  Jesse nodded.

  Hermie and the driver had loaded baggage, and Hermie came to get Clive's satchel. The other passengers who had been chosen to travel with the hotel owner called their thanks to Jesse and boarded the coach.

  By the third day all but three of the displaced passengers had ridden out on departing stages. Only William Hunter, Eden Sullivan and Mr. Barnett remained.

  On the fourth day the two men were gone, as well, and the boardinghouse held the usual sprinkling of guests, plus the still-hobbling Eden.

  She'd made no mention of moving on, and continued to pay her dollar a day for room and board. It was a steep rate; the Shelbys could charge it because of their locale and appeal, but it was a mystery why Eden didn't mind paying it—and how she could afford to.

  "Hello?" she chirped from her room as Jesse passed through on his way out early Friday morning.

  Hesitantly, he stood outside her partially open door.

  "Yes, miss?"

  "I'm dreadfully bored and couldn't possibly rest another moment. Will you be so kind as to assist me to the house for the day? I'd like to take meals with the others and converse a bit."

  Hat in hand, Jesse opened the door and peered around it to find the woman perched on the side of the narrow bed, dressed in a spring-green dress, her dark hair artfully arranged in an upsweep of curls.

  She motioned for him to come closer.

  He glanced out toward the hall.

  "Come on in. I'll need your strong back and arms."

  He approached her uncomfortably.

  "Come on, I won't bite."

  When he drew beside her, she stood and reached one arm around his neck. He placed his hat on his head quickly and lifted her up against his chest, one arm around her back, the other behind her knees.

  "I'm positively aching for company," she told him as he carried her out of the room.

  She smelled like powdery roses. "I'm sure my wife and Mrs. Barnes will be good company."

  "I asked the maid if Mrs. Shelby was your wife."

  "She is."

  "I wasn't sure, because you stay here nights."

  Heat burned up Jesse's neck, but he passed off her comment as though it didn't disturb him. They were out of doors and he made quick work of traveling the board walkway that stretched to the house. Four steps up to the porch, and he paused so she could reach for the handle on the door.

  Amy stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot, her back to them as they entered. Mrs. Barnes looked up from kneading dough.

  "Amy, bring a chair, will you, please?"

  She turned to discover her husband standing just inside the kitchen doorway, a sweetly smiling Eden in his arms. Wiping her hands on her apron, Amy walked quickly from the room, returning with the rocker.

  Jesse deposited Eden on the seat, backed away as though she were a stick of dynamite and he held the match, then nodded to Amy before slipping back outside.

  Eden watched the door close, then swept dark-lashed eyes around the kitchen. "I couldn't bear another moment in that room staring at the walls. Your Jesse was kind enough to avail me of his strong back."

  Amy picked up a bowl of potatoes and a knife and placed them on a bench within Eden's reach. "I'm glad you're here. We can always use another hand in the kitchen."

  Mrs. Barnes hid a smile by turning away and wetting a towel to drape over the shaped loaves.

  As the men filtered in for their morning meal, each pair of eyes made a brief and appreciative inspection of the fetching woman seated in their midst. Eden smiled and greeted each hand politely, but reserved the magnitude of her charm for Sam and Jesse.

  Sam scooted her rocker closer to the table and reached for cream and molasses for her oatmeal. An injured foot hadn't affected Eden's appetite up 'til now; Amy had observed that she'd eaten all the meals carried to her room. But this morning, she ate only a few spoonfuls of oatmeal and a couple of bites of toast.

  "I can't hold any more," she told Sam. "But I'm delighted to have company for my meal. I've been dreadfully lonely."

  "Well, you just sit tight here and you'll have company for all your meals," he told her. "Amy and Mrs. Barnes are in and out most of the day, so you won't be alone."

  "You've all been so kind to me." She drew a lace-edged hankie from the pocket of her dress to dab the corner of one eye. "I can't thank you enough."

  Amy glanced at the males around the table. Deezer, the youngest of their help, swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he stared at her wide-eyed. Hermie and Pitch paused with spoons halfway to their mouths. Jesse glanced from Eden to the door and downed his coffee. Even Cay stared as though a heavenly apparition had been placed in their midst.

  Sam patted Eden's hand awkwardly, then moved her chair back to its original position. "No need to get carried away thankin' folks," he said. "We're all real glad you and the others are safe and sound."

  "Well, I wouldn't be if it weren't for your bravery. Yours and Jesse's."

  Jesse stood then, grabbed his hat and settled it on his head. "Going out to look for you was my wife's idea. Be thankin' her." He glanced to his nephew as he buckled his holster. "Cay, oil the harnesses this morning."

  He left, the door swinging shut behind him.

  Cay scraped his bowl clean and trotted out with a perfunctory "Thank you, ma'am."

  Their departure prodded the others to finish their meals and head out. Sam wished the women a good day and joined them.

  By the time
Amy had finished clearing the table, she noted that Eden had managed to finish her oatmeal. Must be the men who made her lose her appetite, she thought. She set the empty bowl beside the tub where Mrs. Barnes was scrubbing dishes and they shared a knowing look.

  Amy thought of the comical expressions on the men's faces and realized that her father's was the one that disturbed her the most. She scoffed at herself with her second breath. Sam was twice Eden's age—too old and far too wise to be taken in by such obvious feminine wiles.

  Wasn't he?

  ***

  Sam was too damn old to be moonin' like a tongue-tied schoolboy and finding excuses to stop by the house during the day. Or was he? He hadn't even neared fifty yet, and he was still fit enough to wrangle a horse or carry a featherweight woman to the boardinghouse each night and back again of a morning. That part had come to be a pleasure. Eden was softer and curvier than anything he could think of, and she smelled like rose petals. His wife had been gone a fair number of years, but until now he hadn't realized how much he missed havin' a woman in his arms.

  Her skin was dewy and fair, and her hair held the midnight sheen of a newborn colt. She was a delicate distraction from his otherwise male-oriented and harsh days. It wasn't as though the woman's stay was permanent. She would be movin' on—had family expectin' her—had a life of polish and refinement far from here. No, life on the frontier was hard on women.

  Sam had impressed that fact upon Jesse from the first time Jesse had shown an interest in his daughter, and again when Jesse and Amy married. A few years back, news had traveled that a homesteader's wife over by Wolf Creek gave birth to her seventh child, got up and baked a blueberry pie, then went out to the barn and hung herself from the rafters. Sam and Jesse put their heads together on the spot and hired more help. Sam's wife had died too young, though.

  "I don't want a hard life for Amy," he'd told his son-in-law.

  Both of them had done their best to give Amy the skills she needed to survive while shielding her from the harshest elements. But Eden was definitely not cut out for life on the Overland Trail.

  There was no reason Sam shouldn't enjoy the fresh picture Eden painted on his otherwise monotonous days, though. Last time he checked, he wasn't dead.

  On Saturday night he asked Eden if she would like to attend church with them on Sunday, and she accepted. The next morning Sam carried her to a buggy he'd rigged for the occasion. He pointedly ignored his curious family and the gawking hands as he and his female companion left together.

  Jesse stood beside his own buggy, watching them go, then sensed company at his side. Looking fine in her blue dress with the lace neck and sleeves, a hat shading her eyes, Amy had joined him. She was so pretty he felt all soft inside. He turned his attention to Sam's buggy in the distance.

  "What do you make of that?" he asked.

  She smoothed her white gloves over her fingers. "I guess he has a right to his folly if he chooses it. Or, could be she's looking for a man and a home."

  Jesse wasn't so sure about the home part. He assisted his wife up to the seat and climbed to take the reins and utter a command to the horses.

  "Do you think Cay would want to ride with us?" Amy asked.

  Her question surprised him, but pleasure overrode any hesitation about her intentions. "Whoa there. Whoa." He tied the reins to the brake handle. "I'll see. Is he in the house?"

  "No, he left a little while ago."

  Jesse got down and loped to the barn, returning moments later with Cay. Dressed in his good shirt and trousers, the boy scrambled into the small seat at the rear. Jesse resumed his place beside Amy.

  As they participated in the service that morning, Jesse rolled Amy's words from earlier in the week around in his mind. She sat on his right, as always, Cay to his left. She had said she was afraid he would get too attached to his nephew and then Cay would leave. Was she thinking of Jesse being hurt? Or was she protecting herself—because she'd been hurt by loss and couldn't bear it again?

  A Sunday morning never passed that Jesse didn't think of the squirming fair-haired toddler who used to sit between them, sometimes falling asleep on Jesse's lap with his thumb in his mouth. Did Amy think of Tim on these mornings, too? Or had she completely erased every memory because of the pain they caused? He knew Amy, the real Amy, knew her caring nature and her tender heart. She wasn't locking out Cay because she didn't trust him or because she resented the intrusion. Intentionally or unintentionally, she was trying to protect them both.

  But today she'd suggested that Cay ride with them. Jesse wanted to reach over and take her hand, thank her without words. Is the Amy I remember still I there? Is the girl I fell in love with and gave my heart to a ghost? Come back to me, my love. My heart. Don't leave me here all alone.

  Jesse prayed for strength. And for forgiveness.

  And for strength to forgive.

  Chapter Six

  Sam had forgotten what it was like to be around a female other than his daughter or Mrs. Barnes. Another week around Eden proved she was a woman to catch a man's fancy and tickle it good.

  The following Sunday they'd attended church again. Afterward she sat beside him on the buggy seat as he headed the horses toward home. Wearing a bright pink dress with a square-necked bodice that showed a man enough cleavage to thoroughly addle his thoughts, she was a new spring flower on a late-fall day.

  She tucked her arm through his. "I don't even know where you live, Sam."

  "It's on past the station just a mile. Not far."

  "A house?"

  "A small one. Serves me well."

  "I'd like to see it."

  Sam glanced down at her uptilted face. Her beguiling smile was irresistible. "Now?"

  "Unless you prefer not. But I surely would enjoy the scenery in that direction."

  "The scenery looks just the same either way, but I don't mind takin' you there."

  She gave his arm a delighted little squeeze that unwittingly pressed her breast against his arm. A tremor shot through his body.

  A short while later his homestead came into view— the orchards to the east and south of the house, a well in the yard and a red barn. "This is it." He pulled the buggy up in front of the house. "I could fix us some lunch if you want. I don't have much, but I can put together somethin'."

  "That would be most kind of you. I am quite hungry after a whole morning of singing and praying."

  She leaned on her crutch as Sam unhitched the horse and tethered it where it could find dry grass.

  He ushered Eden inside. The house was only two rooms—a wide kitchen open to a sitting area, and a bedroom. The last years of their life together. He and Vanessa had shared this little house, taking most of their meals at the station but spending evenings and nights here.

  Since Vanessa's death, Adele came over and cleaned for him and Amy made sure he had supplies laid by. It wasn't much of a home anymore. He looked at the rooms through a city woman's eyes and they came up sorely lacking.

  "It's not much," he said with an apology in his tone. "I don't spend much time here."

  "It's rather quaintly charming, actually," she said, touching the edge of the table and the rungs of a ladder-back chair. She had a way of touching people and things, as though she experienced them through her fingertips. "It has possibilities."

  Sam couldn't imagine what possibilities, but he took her wrap and hat and hung them beside the door. He blinked at the unaccustomed sight of the feminine garments, a knot in his chest. Catching himself, he turned to his task, raised the stove lid and stirred the fire to life with the poker. Sparks floated toward the ceiling. From the stack beside the stove, he took a chunk of wood and added it, then set about slicing ham and opening a can of beans. A whoosh flew up the stovepipe as the fire caught, and he heated their meal.

  Eden found plates and silverware and set the table. "I don't suppose you have any tea?"

  "'Fraid not."

  "I'll drink water. I haven't developed a taste for your western coffee."
/>
  He forked slices of ham onto the plates and set the hot beans on the table in the pan. "Quite a bit about the West takes some gettin' used to. I should have put those in a bowl."

  He reached for the handle of the pan, but she caught his wrist. "It's all right, Sam. You don't have to do anything fancy on my behalf."

  He looked at her hand, small and pale and soft. Not the hand of someone who scrubbed laundry on a washboard or made soap or milked cows. She was like a traveler from another time and place set down in his kitchen, and he couldn't quite grasp the marvel of her presence. That she even wanted to be with him was a wonder.

  "Are you exceedingly hungry?" Her dewy lips formed that delicate pout.

  Sam shook his head in a lie. He was always hungry at dinnertime.

  "Neither am I." She released his hand and touched his lips with her finger. Taking another step closer, she breathed, "But I do have a craving for something sweet."

  Heat rushed through Sam's veins and his body reacted immediately and potently. No, he wasn't dead by a long shot. Unless he was missing the mark, Eden was as eager for something to develop between them as he was. He might miss the signal, but he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to see if he was right.

  Wrapping one arm around her waist, he drew her solidly up against him. Her eyes darkened with sultry excitement as she held his gaze. There was no mistaking his desire pressed between them. Her nostrils flared with anticipation.

  Lowering his head, Sam kissed her. She responded with a growl in the back of her throat. He didn't know if he'd ever kissed a woman who threw herself into the act like Eden. She used her teeth and her lips and her tongue until both of them were breathing hard.

  With pauses for breath, she leaned back and made quick work of Sam's tie and shirt buttons, freeing the tail and pushing the garment off his shoulders and down his arms.

  She ran her hands over his chest and arms appreciatively. "You're so bumpy in all the right places. Here—" She tested his biceps. "Here—"That said with her tongue lapping his shoulder.

  Sam gritted his teeth.

  In a wash of rose perfume, she turned and presented her back. "My buttons, Sam."