Marriage By Necessity

by Christine Rimmer

  She lifted her hips, taking him even more fully into her. Then she relaxed back into their grassy bed. He made that growling sound again.

  And then he was moving. And she was moving with him. And their eternal kiss continued as their bodies moved together in an endless, rolling wave—like the grasses of the prairie, rippling on and on forever before the incessant wind.

  Something rose within her, reaching. And she followed it, up and over the edge of the universe. Into a darkness that exploded with light. She held on to Nate, crying out. And he held on to her.

  He whispered her name at the very end, as if it was the only name that mattered, whispered it in agony and joy, against her parted lips.

  “Yes, Nate,” she whispered back. “Yes.” And “Yes,” again.

  Chapter Five

  Meggie woke at dawn to the sound of a meadowlark trilling out its high, piercing song. She looked over at Nate. Surprisingly, he slept on. And very peacefully, too, his cheek resting on his arm. Though she didn’t want to wake him yet, she couldn’t keep herself from staring at him just for a moment or two, knowing she wore a fool’s grin on her face, and not giving a darn. Or course, Nate Bravo could never look soft, but he came pretty close to it, now in sleep. She thought of last night and her foolish grin widened.

  Carefully, Meggie slid from under the covers and pulled on her clothes, including the jacket she’d left flung over her saddle, ready to pull on against the morning chill. Patriot, not far away, saw her moving about and snorted at her in question. She shot the horse a look and the mare snorted once more, then bent her head to nip delicately at what was left of the grass around her hooves.

  Nate stirred a little, as Meggie was pulling on her boots. She sat very still, watching him, but he didn’t open his eyes. Quietly, Meggie rose and tiptoed away. Once she was far enough from Nate that she didn’t think the sound of her boots brushing the grass would wake him, she picked up her pace. She walked briskly, up the rise they’d come down the night before. At the top, she sat facing the creek.

  From her perch, she could see the horses, nibbling the stubs of grass they’d already chewed down during the night. She could also see Nate, under the blankets by the side of the creek. And if she raised her eyes, she could see the Big Horns. Very soon, the sun would break over the horizon behind her and flood the craggy peaks with morning light.

  She reached in the pocket of her jacket and found the envelope she’d stuck in there the night before. It contained a letter from her. father, which G. Vernon Bannister had given her on the same day he informed her of the contents of her father’s will.

  Meggie opened the letter carefully and smoothed it on her knee. She had read it before, of course. A hundred times, at least—during those first awful days after she’d learned what Jason Kane had done to her. She had read it in rage and hurt and a faint hope that someday, somehow, she would let herself forgive him.

  She read it now as the sun hit the Big Horns and the day truly began:

  My dearest Megan,

  I know how you must be feeling right now. And I got to admit, I’m glad I don’t have to face you.

  But something had to be done. And I have done it. And that’s that.

  I’ve told you more than one time how I fear for you, fear that you’ve put all of your love into the land. And how I worry it’s not healthy. That if you’re not careful, you’ll end up like me, with no one beside you in the darkest part of the night. In plain speaking, Meggie girl, you could end up worse than me, because at least your mother gave me you before she took off. But the way you’re headed, you won’t even have a child to give the land to when you go.

  It pleases me that your cousin has brought his family to the Double-K. I hope they stay on. But a cousin is not a husband. And those two children of Sonny’s are not your own. I want you to have children of your own.

  And don’t go thinking I don’t know my own part in what’s happened to you. Your mother was the only woman I ever loved. And if I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else. I waited and waited for her to come back to us, though she told me when she left that she was never coming back. Still, even after I got word of her death, some crazy part of me kept hoping to see her again. I’m still hoping, to tell you true. And I know I passed that narrow way of loving on to you.

  You never talked about Nathan Bravo to me. But I know that he was the one. And I don’t know whether you told him and he turned you down—or he just plain never asked. But he is gone from you now, living far away. And all you’ve allowed yourself is the Double-K. It’s not enough.

  Anyways, I guess you know I have been sick for a while. And the closer my time came, the more it got clear to me just what I needed to do.

  By now, Mr. Bannister has told you the terms of my will. And I know you’re probably mad as a peeled rattler at your old man. But I sincerely hope, over time, that you will come to understand why I’ve done what I’ve done. To understand, and maybe even to forgive. Hell, if you find happiness because of this, you might even thank me one day. And in any case, if my plan doesn’t work out, the sale of the herd and the home place should give you enough of a stake to start again.

  Megan May, when I look back on my life, I see your eyes. It feels to me that you are why I lived at all. And what I want for you is a shot at a marriage. A damn long shot, I know. But a chance, anyway. And at least one child. Someone to be the reason why you lived, when you’re old and used up and waiting for death to ease the pain that eats you from inside.

  I do love you, Meggie. And I did this for you.

  Your father, Jason Levi Kane

  Carefully, Meggie folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She put the envelope in her pocket. Right then, from somewhere behind her, another meadowlark burst into song. She stared at the Big Horns, now bathed in sunlight. And she thought of her father.

  Jason Kane had loved Mia Stephens Kane with all of his heart. He had met her on a trip to Denver, and brought her home to share his life. She stayed long enough to have their baby. And then she left. Meggie had no memories of her at all. Still, Meggie’s childhood had felt complete—because of Jason Kane.

  The sun on the mountains shone so bright it made her squint. She drew up her legs, wrapped her arms around them and rested her cheek on her knees.

  Her father might not have intended for her to go after troublesome Nate Bravo in order to fulfill the terms of his will. But she had gone after Nate. And for a time, she would have him. Thus, in a way, her father had forced her to go out and pursue her heart’s desire.

  Of course, it wouldn’t last....

  Meggie closed her eyes and smiled to herself. What ever really lasted anyway? God willing, she’d have a few shining, wonderful months with the man who owned her heart—and she’d have his baby. It was much more than she had ever dared to hope for in all the lonely years since he had turned her love away.

  Keeping her eyes shut, Meggie lifted her head and tipped her face to the wind. Right then and there, she made a promise to herself. She vowed that she would not try to hold Nate when it ended. She’d take these few precious months to treasure and she would set him free with a smile when the time came. Moreover, while they were together, she would not cling to him, or pressure him with talk of love.

  Just as the vow was made, she heard Nate’s footsteps, whispering through the grass. The footsteps stopped a few feet from her. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. He hadn’t bothered to pull on his shirt and his muscular chest was pebbled with goose bumps in the cold morning air. Also, his hair stuck out at all angles and he had a red sleep mark on his cheek where he’d lain on his arm. She thought he was the most gorgeous sight she’d ever beheld.

  He faked a mean frown. “What are you staring at?”

  “You.” Suddenly suspicious, she narrowed her eyes at him. “How long have you been awake?”

  He grinned. “Since you slid out from under the covers. Bu
t you seemed like a woman on a mission, the way you pulled on your clothes so carefully and then crept away. I figured you wanted a little time alone.”

  She would have shown him the letter then if it hadn’t included mention of him and how much she loved him. References to her undying love could be read as putting pressure on him, which she had just silently sworn not to do.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Well what?”

  He dropped down beside her. “Did you want a little time alone?”

  She leaned his way, still clutching her drawn-up knees, so their bodies touched. “I did. Thanks.”

  He looked in her eyes and something lovely and intimate passed between them. “No problem.”

  She dared to wrap her arm around his shoulder. His skin felt wonderful under her hand, so smooth and tight, the muscles beneath as hard as stones, but more resilient. “Aren’t you cold?”

  He shrugged and looked out toward the sun-bright mountains. “It’s not bad.”

  Behind them, the meadowlark sang some more. Along the crest of the rise, about fifty feet away, a jackrabbit rose up on its hind legs, sniffed the air and then turned to hop off, long ears twitching. Somebody’s stomach growled, but they were sitting so close Meggie couldn’t tell whose.

  She chuckled. “We should get back to the house. Get some breakfast. And some oats for the poor horses.”

  He looked at her again. “No.”

  His curtness startled her a little. “What?”

  He turned toward her slightly and slid his hand between the open sides of her down jacket. She sucked in a quick, surprised breath as he began unbuttoning her shirt.

  “I’ve always wanted you,” he said conversationally, “since we were kids.” His fingers had made swift work of the buttons. Now she felt his hand sliding under the cup of her bra. His hand was cold. She shivered a little. He made a low, soothing sound as he cradled her breast.

  He spoke in that casual tone again. “I wanted to do all kinds of things to your body. And you knew it.” He toyed with her nipple. “You were furious at me, because I wouldn’t give in and come after you. Weren’t you?”

  Meggie said nothing. She felt pretty much poleaxed—but in a delicious sort of way. The moment he touched her, her body came alive. Every sensation became acute. Arousal spread through her, pooling in her belly, making everything loose and ready. Even the slight soreness caused by the night before had a need to it, as if it hungered to be made sorer still.

  “Weren’t you mad at me, Meggie May?” He unclasped her bra.

  She melted. Opened. Bloomed.

  “Meggie. Answer.”

  She forced herself to reply. “Yes. I was mad at you.”

  He smoothed the sides of her bra out of his way. “But I didn’t touch you, except that one kiss, on the Fourth of July. I knew the price of touching you—marriage. Turn toward me.” She did as he commanded. He took her hips and pulled her to him, lifting her so she straddled his lap, there on that rise, with the wind and the dewy grass moving all around them.

  She could feel him, through her jeans, as hard and ready as she was meltingly willing. He smiled, a slow, devastatingly sexy smile. “But now. Hell. I’ve paid the price. I’ve married you. And for the next few months, it’s kind of my job. To want you. Right?”

  She drew in a long, shaky breath. “Right.”

  He slid both hands inside her coat and tugged on her shirt, until it was out of her Wranglers. Then he gathered her close, his hands splayed on her bare back. “Before breakfast is always a good time,” he whispered in her ear.

  She quivered, and pressed herself closer to him, her breasts against his broad, hard chest.

  He instructed, “Say, ‘Yes, Nate.’”

  Obediently, she parroted, “Yes, Nate.”

  “Wrap your legs around me. I’ll take you back to the blankets.”

  She hooked her boots around his waist. He got his feet beneath him and rocked back on his heels. With a low grunt, he stood. And then he started down the rise to where the blankets waited.

  In the golden days that followed, Nate worked right alongside Megan and Sonny. As it turned out, they needed the extra pair of hands, because Lev found a better-paying job and left them a few days after the wedding. The day Lev took off, Meggie told Nate that she would just go ahead and pay him Lev’s wages.

  Nate laughed. “Forget it, Meggie May. I’m not taking your money.”

  “But if you’re going to work, it only seems fair that you—”

  “Quiet. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “But it’s not right.”

  “Look at it this way. I’m working for something that will someday belong to my kid, right?”

  “If everything goes the way we hope.”

  “So consider it child support.”

  “But—”

  He only shook his head. “Say thank-you.”

  She did.

  “And give me a kiss.”

  She did that, too.

  Nate fit right in. He knew the work—better than Lev had, certainly. After all, Nate was Ross Bravo’s grandson and had helped out at the Rising Sun from the age of fourteen on. He could string a fence with the best of them.

  And he never shirked in the endless, backbreaking work of clearing the ditches so that precious water would find its way to the cattle and the alfalfa fields. Sometimes they dug the ditches out; sometimes they burned out the swamp grass that choked them. And sometimes, when they burned, the fires got away from them, creeping along underneath the thick grasses to pop up here and there, taunting them with how easily a prairie fire can get a hold.

  When they cut hay that summer, Nate usually drove the swather. The swather was designed to both cut and windrow the hay, leaving it laid out in a neat row, ready for the baler, which they wouldn’t bring round until the hay had a chance to cure in the hot summer sun.

  Once, when they were cutting alfalfa, Meggie climbed onto the small platform near where Nate sat to drive. She held on tight while he went up and down the field, with the big blades turning, throwing the hay up into a pair of canvas rollers that spit it out in a long row behind. She laughed, over the noise of the engine, enjoying herself immensely, in spite of the bits of grass and dirt blown in her face by the wind. Life never got much better than this, to be here with Nate, essentially living out her dearest fantasy—of the two of them, married and working together every day.

  Nate yelled, “Pay attention—hang on.” She glanced back at the big sharp blades and took his advice to heart.

  When the field was cut, that wonderful smell perfumed the air. There was nothing like the scent of cut alfalfa. Sweet and grassy, with a hint of spice from the little purple flowers it produced. Cut alfalfa was the smell of summer, pure and simple, to Meggie’s mind.

  Beyond haying and fencing and burning ditches, there were always weeds to poison. Especially sage and leafy spurge. Sage had been the bane of the prairie for generations. But spurge had been brought over from Europe more recently by some botanist who didn’t know the kind of trouble he would end up causing.

  Leafy spurge was a pretty green plant with tiny yellow flowers. Its roots went deep and it grew in dense clumps, forcing out the native grass wherever it took hold. And in the western United States, it seemed to be taking hold with a vengeance. Cattle wouldn’t eat it; even most of the wildlife left it alone. And it was hard to kill, even with powerful herbicides. So, for local ranchers, poisoning spurge had become a summer-long activity. They treated it with Tordon, a chemical weed killer that came in both liquid and pellet form.

  Most often that summer, when they poisoned leafy spurge on the Double-K, Nate drove the pickup, since he was so adept at getting a vehicle in and out of the kind of places Meggie wouldn’t have even imagined it could go. As Nate drove, either Meggie or Sonny would work from the bed of the pickup, spraying like crazy or scattering pellets.

  And of course, there was the constant work of checking the cattle, bringing in the ones with foot
rot or cancer eye for treatment, keeping an eye on their watering holes to make sure they still had water and that no animal had gotten itself bogged down in the mud. And moving them, making choices about the culls—cattle they planned to sell off—so they would be ready for shipping day in the fall.

  Then, at night, the big, old bed in the master bedroom was waiting for them. They worked hard there, as well, to make the baby that Meggie needed so much. Neither of them minded that particular job in the least.

  Naturally, Nate insisted on bull riding in the August rodeo in Buffalo. Meggie’s heart stopped beating for the entire seven seconds he stayed on. The bull he drew was a mean one, and he barely avoided getting stomped. When it was over, he told Meggie he was getting too damn old for such foolishness. She knew him well enough to disagree with him.

  She said, “You love it and you know it. And you’ll be riding bulls when you’re sixty if you don’t break your neck first.”

  He put his arm around her and bussed her on the cheek. “Hell. You got me nailed.”

  He smelled of manure. She looked up at his dirty face and wondered how it was possible for her heart to hold so much joy without bursting apart.

  Once in August and once at the beginning of September, Nate returned to L.A.—the first time to testify in a trial and later to do a little sleuthing for some software firm that had sent a lot of business his way. But he never stayed away for more than a week. Meggie was happy, living in the now. She strictly honored her secret vow; not once did she speak of love or permanence. And Nate seemed as content as Meggie had ever seen him. She couldn’t help priding herself on how well things were going between them.