by Jodi Thomas
Earl Timmons’s brother shook his head and added, “I was betting we’d find him dead.”
She backed away, not wanting to hear what the Timmons brothers had to say. Emma Lee Cooper might want to marry one of the cowboys, but Valerie didn’t even want to talk to them, much less have them on her land. They’d always treated her like a thing and not a person, even talking about her as if she couldn’t hear them.
Glancing at Brody, she saw the fire in his eyes, but his voice was calm. “Other than to check on my health, what are you two doing off Double R land?” He didn’t sound angry, but she noticed he’d moved his right hand to the butt of his Colt.
She didn’t think he’d draw on them, but for the first time she saw the soldier he’d been, always on the ready, and wondered if the Timmons boys were smart enough to be aware.
The brothers urged their horses closer. “Boss told us to bring those half-dozen mavericks you’ve been taking care of over here. He says they’ll just die if he turns them out, and maybe you’d take them off his hands.”
Valerie looked past the man to six calves between her place and the road. The cowboys hadn’t been wrong; the cattle already looked near death. Not one had enough meat on its body to make a stew.
“I’ll take care of them,” Brody said. “Thanks for bringing them over.” He reached behind him and took Valerie’s hand, tugging her forward with a firm grip. “And when you see my wife again, call her Mrs. Monroe, not the widow.”
Valerie expected the cowboys to argue, but they didn’t. They might not like Brody, but it was obvious they respected him. Both touched their hats and rode away.
“What are you going to do with them?” She pointed at the calves.
“Those cows you milk have extra every morning?”
“They usually do. The barn cats are getting so fat they can barely walk.”
“Well, it’s past dawn, we need to start milking.” He held her hand all the way to the barn as he explained how he planned to get the six mavericks healthy enough to be feeding off the grass along the rocky side of her land before summer.
As they worked, she learned a great deal about her new husband. He knew little about milking a cow, but he tried.
Almost finished, she heard a noise and turned to see him spread out on the barn floor a few feet behind one of the cows. “Brody?”
He didn’t move.
“Brody? Brody!” She was up and running. He looked like he’d been struck dead on the spot.
Picking up his head, she shook him. “If you die on me, Broderick, I swear I’ll never, ever forgive you.”
To her relief, he groaned and moved his head. When he pushed his hair off his forehead, she saw the beginning of a huge bruise.
“I’m all right.” He sat up. “I didn’t know milk cows kicked so hard.”
She didn’t know whether to hit him for being so careless or hug him. Anger took over as she stood. “How dare you scare me like that! Can’t you be more careful?” She put her fists on her hips and glared at him. “If you die on me, I swear I’ll haunt you into the next life and make your eternal days miserable.”
He broke out laughing. When he folded over still laughing, she couldn’t stay mad at him. Dropping to her knees, she joined him.
When they both lay on the barn floor exhausted, he smiled at her. “Even with the kick in the head, it’s a good day to be alive, wife.”
She agreed and they helped each other up.
When she carried the last of the milk to the house, she saw him moving the calves one by one into a small corral beside the barn.
All morning, she watched him working, first with the calves, then cleaning the barn and repairing the corral. When he didn’t stop at noon, she carried bread and buttermilk out to him. He thanked her but barely took time to eat.
That evening he looked tired as he washed at the sink in the kitchen, then sat down to eat.
“I washed your clothes,” she said halfway through the meal when he hadn’t said a word.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me for doing things,” she said. “I’m just doing my part. Tomorrow I’ll go into town with my milk and eggs. Do you need me to pick up anything for you?”
He shook his head. When he’d finished eating, he helped her do the dishes, then brought in firewood as she went to dress for bed. She returned to bank the fire and it was his turn to change.
She stayed in the kitchen for as long as she could, not wanting to interrupt him. When she finally blew out the light and moved through the dark house to the bedroom, she was surprised to find him standing in the dark staring out the window.
“Are you all right?” She moved to his side and brushed her fingers over the knot on his forehead.
He caught her hand and held it for a moment before letting her go. “I was just thinking of all that needs to be done. I’ll ride in with you in the morning and pick up seed. It may be a week before I’ll have the field ready, but I’ll want the seeds when I do.”
“Stop thinking about work, husband, and come to bed.” He’d worked twice as hard as she had today and she was exhausted. She moved to her side of the bed and climbed in. He did the same.
He lifted his arm and she lay an inch away from him. After a few minutes he shifted to face her and touched her cheek with his hand. “It was a good day, Valerie,” he said so low she wondered if he knew he’d said the words aloud. “The best I’ve had in longer than I remember.”
“I’m glad,” she added. “I feel like we’ve got a strong plan, and for the first time in years, I seemed to be working toward a goal of more than just existing.”
His hand traced her jaw and moved to the lace at her throat, then slowly trailed down the front of her gown, touching the tiny pearl buttons that ran from just below her chin to her waist. There had to be thirty buttons. It might as well have been thirty locks between the two of them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, afraid he’d tell her to lift her gown.
“I’m getting my mind off work by thinking you have way too many buttons to unbutton,” he said as his hand stopped moving just between her breasts. “I feel your heart pounding, Valerie. Tell me to stop if you don’t want this, but I find I do like touching you.”
“No.”
He straightened and moved his hand away. “No, you don’t want this, or no, don’t stop?”
“No, I won’t tell you to stop. You have a right.”
He sat up. “What are you afraid of? That I’ll hurt you? That I’ll force you? I don’t want to do something just because you think I have a right to. All day I thought about being here with you and if it was possible that you might just want to be here with me.”
She didn’t answer for a long time and he remained stone. Finally, she spoke her mind. “I’m afraid if I’m not the proper wife, you’ll leave me.”
Brody fell back on the bed so fast he bumped his head, almost cracking the headboard. After a few swear words, he sat back up again. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not going to hurt you or force you or leave you. I would like to sleep next to you, but if it bothers you, I’ll be fine in the barn.”
She nodded and wondered if he could see her in the dark. “All right. I’d like you to stay here, with me, and if you want to touch me now and then, I wouldn’t mind.” She knew she didn’t sound sure of anything, but it was the best she could offer.
After a while, he slid back down beside her. “Why on earth would you think I’d leave? Being here, working for myself, makes me feel alive, and touching you just now and then is more than I’d ever dreamed of asking for. But much as I like it, I don’t want you letting me if you’re just doing it because you think it’s your duty.”
She wanted to ask Brody a dozen whys, but she didn’t. The memory of her first husband came to mind. This had been his place, and he’d been fifteen years older than her when they married. He’d always made her feel like she was visiting in his house, even yelling if she moved anything
. He’d made her feel like she’d married up when she’d found him and she should always be grateful. With each month’s passing he seemed angrier at her because she didn’t get pregnant. By the end of their first year they were no longer talking. He just gave orders and yelled complaints while she grew silent.
When he left for the war, the last thing he’d said to her was not to change anything on his farm. She’d waited a year after they notified her he’d died before she even put away his clothes. She’d never cried for Venny or for Samuel five years later.
Yet a tear rolled down her cheek at the possibility that she might have been treating Brody as a visitor in what was now half his house. He hadn’t started this, and he hadn’t asked for much.
Silently, she moved until they touched. As always, she felt him stiffen at the contact for that first moment. “Hold me,” she whispered, “until I fall asleep. Not because you should, but only if you want to.”
His arm tightened around her. “I’m not leaving,” he answered and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll figure this out somehow.” His hand moved comfortingly along her shoulder.
She didn’t answer, but ten minutes later when she knew he was asleep, she reached up and unbuttoned a few buttons at her neck.
Chapter 6
The next morning Brody woke Valerie up after he’d dressed. Dawn was just coming into their room as he stood over her. Strands of her braid had come free, and as he moved her hair from her face, she opened sleepy eyes.
“Morning, beautiful,” he said.
“Morning.” She stretched.
He fought the urge to trace his hand over the outline of her body as the cotton molded against her skin. Several times in the night he’d reached to touch her lightly, tucking her arm under the cover, shifting her against his shoulder, and one time letting his hand rest atop her hip. Once, she’d rolled slightly toward him, pressing her breast against his side. He’d kissed her lightly on her sleeping mouth, and he swore she’d made a little sound of pleasure.
“I’ll milk the cows while you get dressed and fix breakfast. Then we’ll be ready to leave for town.” He noticed that the collar of her nightgown was open and wished he’d been brave enough to talk about how it had felt to have her beside him all night.
“Be careful,” she ordered, cuddling back into the covers. “Watch out for the cows.”
He laughed. “If you hear a shot, you’ll know you have one less cow.”
An hour later, as he helped her into the buggy, he kissed her lightly on the mouth and said, “You taste like pancakes.”
She straightened to her very proper self. “I don’t know why. You’re the one who ate them all.”
He climbed in beside her, patting her leg resting next to his as though he’d touched her there a hundred times. When she didn’t move away, he flicked the reins to start the buggy moving and let his hand rest on her knee. The feel of her, the knowledge that she didn’t mind, made him half drunk with need. “How’s your hand?”
“The cut closed fast. Only the puffiness remains. How’s your head?”
“Nothing but a blue mark.” He settled, letting his leg press against hers. They might not talk, but in a strange way, they were communicating.
They were almost to the trading post when he broke the silence. “I want you to buy yourself a good pair of gloves.”
“I don’t—”
“You need them.” He could tell she was planning to argue, so he added, “End of discussion.”
“All right, but while you go to the grain store, I’d like to visit with my father.”
“We need to get back as soon as possible. It’s only been two days since—”
“I’m stopping by his place.” She met his gaze. “End of discussion.”
They both laughed as they pulled to a stop, drawing the attention of several people. Brody was used to people frowning and looking away when he scanned a crowd, but today a few met his stare and one lady he remembered seeing at the dance even smiled at him.
In the trading post, most of the talk was about rustlers moving into the territory. Times were hard and there were those who took what they wanted. The war had left too many men wounded in more than just body; some seemed stained all the way to their souls. After five years of fighting they didn’t much care about anything but themselves and staying alive. To add trouble, the Indian Wars were raging to the north and rustlers were running the border.
Brody had a pair of Colts and a rifle, but he hadn’t noticed any weapons at the farm. While Valerie was busy picking up supplies, he slid in ammunition and another rifle to the pile she was collecting.
The store owner noticed and gave a slight nod. “Better safe than sorry,” he mumbled and moved around next to Brody. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Yank, how have you been feeling lately?”
Brody thought for a moment that maybe the bump on his forehead, or the one in back from hitting the headboard, might be showing. “I’m fine,” he answered a bit too quickly.
“No fever. Not feeling sickly?” The store owner pushed. “Folks been asking. After all, you’ve been married going on three days.”
Brody knew people were waiting for the widow’s curse to kick in. “No, I’ve never been better.” Despite the bruises over a few falls lately, he’d answered honestly.
The store owner looked like he believed him. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, but if you do get to feeling bad, you get right to a doc, you hear.”
Half an hour later, Brody was still thinking about how folks were just waiting for him to pass away any moment when the blacksmith asked him how he was doing.
“Fine, Parker,” Brody answered. He’d known the big man for over a year, but Parker had never asked about his health.
“Here you go.” The blacksmith passed him an old horseshoe. “You might hang this over the barn door. They say it’s good luck. Might keep away a curse. Make sure you turn it upward to catch the luck.”
“I’ll do that.” Brody frowned. “What’s the odds on me over at the saloon?”
The blacksmith shrugged, seeing no problem in telling the truth. “Two to one you’ll be dead in a week.”
Brody pulled out a twenty-dollar gold piece he’d been keeping for emergencies. “Place a bet for me, would you?”
“Which way?” Parker grinned.
Brody smiled. “That I’ll make the week. If I don’t, I won’t need the money, and if I do, I’ll have tripled my investment.”
The blacksmith smiled. “I like your way of thinking, Yank. You know, if you limped when you walked back to your buggy, you might get better odds.”
Brody didn’t know whether to laugh or get worried. There was something unsettling about people betting on when he’d die and he’d been concentrating on not limping all morning thanks to yesterday’s fall. Everything from the cow kicking him in the head to him slipping on the muddy ground when he walked the land could all be just accidents.
By the time he picked up grain and drove over to get Valerie, two more people had stopped to ask how he was feeling.
He said hello to her father, but couldn’t think of much to add. The old guy wanted to see her married, but Brody had a feeling Papa thought he’d be involved in the husband picking.
As soon as Brody walked with Valerie off the porch, he slipped his arm around her waist. “I missed you,” he said and was surprised at how much he meant it.
He would have kissed her when he lifted her into the buggy, but several people were standing on the road looking like they were waiting for a parade.
Brody growled low in his throat and moved in beside his wife.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered as she waved at a few of the small groups out walking.
“I wanted to kiss you,” he answered.
“Of course, dear,” she answered with a pat of her hand. “As soon as we’re alone. It wouldn’t be proper in public.”
He slapped the reins and moved through town at what some were probably predicting was a reckless speed.
There would be bets at the saloon tonight on how he’d die.
Valerie talked about a book her father told her he was reading, but Brody barely listened.
As soon as the town disappeared from view, Brody pulled the buggy to a stop. “How about now?” His words were not as forceful as they should have been.
“How about what?”
He looped the reins. “How about you kissing me? We’re alone.” He cleared his throat, forcing back what sounded like an order. “I mean, if you’ve no objection.”
She hesitated, then lifted that perfect chin of hers. “Well, all right, though I don’t think the middle of a road is the place for such things.”
“I don’t care,” he whispered as she put her gloved hands on his shoulders and leaned forward.
When her lips touched his, everything else vanished. Her mouth was soft and hesitant. He felt laughter against his lips as if she thought herself wicked for giving in to such things in broad daylight.
He circled her with one arm and pulled her against him, loving the feel of her next to him. When she didn’t pull away, he opened his mouth and took control of the kiss. He felt her shiver as his hand moved up and held her head just right so that he could take his time tasting her lips.
He never dreamed a woman could taste so good. He was becoming addicted to his wife. He told himself it was just all the years of being alone, but he knew it was more, far more. He didn’t just want a woman; he wanted her. Just her, like this in his arms, kissing him back.
When she broke the kiss, she leaned against his chest, breathing rapidly. He held her gently, brushing his hand slowly over her back.
“That was ...” she whispered, then took several breaths.
“I know,” he answered, cupping her face in his hands. The hunger to taste her again was already building in him. “I could get used to kissing you.”
She smiled shyly and stretched toward him.
A wagon rattled along the road in front of them. For a moment they both just watched it grow near.
When she finally pulled away and straightened her clothes, he whispered, “I wouldn’t mind if you want to kiss me again like that sometime in the near future.”