“Seems like the man could’ve bought you a new dress to get married in,” Isabelle grumbled. Her sharp eyes scanned Jenny, resting disapprovingly on the drab color of her best dress. “Didn’t you drive past the store in town on your way?”
“It wasn’t planned,” Jenny told her. “It just happened. The preacher came by and my father was there.” Enough said, she decided.
She filled her mouth with a bite of chicken. Isabelle had killed two of the young roosters and fried them up for supper, then fixed two plates of food to be held in the warming oven for the travelers. Pure ambrosia, Jenny thought, savoring each bite.
Her ear was tuned for the sounds of Shay’s return from the barn. He’d dropped her off near the back porch and driven the buggy on. And Isabelle, grumpy with worry, had made Jenny sit down and eat without him.
Jenny’s words announcing the impromptu wedding had brought silence for a moment, and then Isabelle’s eyes flashed with indignation. “I could have made up something for you to wear to get married in,” she said. “There’s still some dresses in the attic from Mr. Carl’s mama. Good material like that shouldn’t lay there and moulder.”
The thought of wearing one of the elder Mrs. Pennington’s leftover gowns as a wedding dress, even cut and sewn into a different pattern, was not appealing to Jenny, but she wisely held her tongue.
“It would’ve only taken a minute to stop at the store and find something ready-made,” Isabelle said.
“If there was anything available at all it would be something more expensive than I can afford,” Jenny reminded her, slathering butter across a warm biscuit. “I’m just as married, no matter what I’m wearing. And the important thing is that my father was there to see it happen.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have minded standin’ by, myself.” Isabelle looked up as the door opened and Shay stood on the threshold. “If some folks weren’t in such an all-fired hurry, you coulda done this thing up right. Your pa could have come here and we’d have celebrated together.”
Shay laughed, and his gaze rested on Jenny. “I don’t care if she’s wearing a feed sack, so long as she’s my wife.” His hand rested for a moment on Jenny’s shoulder as he rounded the table and pulled out a chair. “Besides, her father wouldn’t come along, or things might have happened differently.”
His glance held a warning as he spoke again. “We’ll tend to buying her some clothes before long, Isabelle. We’ll be selling off hay in a few weeks, and everybody will be getting new duds. Maybe even before then.”
“Me, too?” Marshall stood in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide as he listened to Shay’s announcement. “Do I get duds, too?”
Shay held out a hand to the boy and Marshall ran to him, climbing onto his lap. “What would you like, Marsh? Some new pants?”
Marshall shook his head. “No, Mama just made me two pairs. I need boots that fit me, sir. Mine make my toes all scrunch up.”
Shay frowned, looking down at the boy’s grimy toes. “Is that why you’ve been out in the field barefoot?”
“How can you tell?” Marshall asked innocently, holding up one foot for inspection.
“They need washing, that’s why,” Shay told him. “Don’t you get into bed till you scrub ’em real good.”
“Can I have new boots?” Marshall persisted. “And some stockings that don’t have lumps from bein’ mended? And a shirt without no holes?”
Jenny felt embarrassment wash over her. To think that her child should be so poorly clad was reason for shame in her book. And yet there’d been no help for it. The money had to go for necessities, and mended stockings were better than none at all.
Shay looked at her, his eyes softening. “Your mama needs some things, too, Marsh. We’ll have to see if they have what we need at the store. Maybe Isabelle will take a trip to town for us next week.”
“What’s wrong with goin’ yourself?” Isabelle asked sharply. “Miss Jenny should be pickin’ out her own stuff, not dependin’ on me to do it. That’s somethin’ a woman likes to do, and I’d think you’d know it.”
“Isabelle.” Jenny’s voice was soft, but the message was clear. This was a matter better left alone.
“Yes, ma’am.” Isabelle exaggerated the words, but the look she shot in Shay’s direction diluted the apology. “If you don’t need me anymore, I’m goin’ home. Noah’s about wore out tonight. I’m gonna rub him good with liniment.”
“I’ll clean up,” Jenny told her. “As soon as Shay eats his supper.” Isabelle stalked to the screen door and let it slam behind her. With a muffled laugh, Jenny rose from the table and retrieved the second plate from the warming oven above the stove. Holding it with a towel, she placed it before Shay. “Watch out, it’s pretty hot. But it sure is good chicken,” she told him.
“Are you going to have enough roosters to put up in the pantry?”
“Enough for now. I need to get them out of the coop before they chase those hens half to death. And if I put them off by themselves, they’ll fight each other.”
“Will you have more hatching soon?”
“I’ve got three broody hens in the coop right now,” Jenny told him. “We’ll have another batch of fryers in a couple of months. It doesn’t take long for them to get big enough when they have plenty to eat.”
Shay shifted Marshall to his left knee, freeing his right hand, and picked up the chicken leg on his plate. He chewed and swallowed and reached for the cup of coffee Jenny had poured. “I take back all the ornery thoughts I had about Isabelle a few minutes ago. That woman can sure cook chicken, can’t she?”
Jenny laughed. “She’s just protective of us, Shay. She’s been taking care of Marshall and me for four years longer than she had to. Noah could have moved on and taken Isabelle and the boys with him, but they stayed here, and I’m grateful.”
“They’re better off here than as if they’d sharecropped someplace else,” he said. “Noah’s had the run of things, with nobody telling him what to do or how to do it. That’s important to him.”
“Well, ignore what she had to say about new clothes,” Jenny said quietly. “We’ll be just fine until there’s money enough coming in to cover it. And I truly don’t mind if Isabelle picks out things for us. I know you don’t want to go into town.” She looked up at him, and he met her gaze, his eyes resting for a moment on her face. Then, with a gentle touch, he lifted Marshall to the floor and whispered in his ear, sending the boy out the door, Marshall stopping only to snatch at a towel from the sink as he passed.
“What did you tell him to do?” Jenny asked.
“I told him to wash his feet at the trough and dry them real good so he doesn’t get muddy on his way back inside. It’s time for him to be in bed.” He picked up another piece of chicken, his eyes never faltering from hers.
“Where’s the marriage certificate?”
“Where do you suppose?”
“It had better be the first thing I see when I get in your bedroom.”
“I hung it as soon as I got in the house. Isabelle knew where there was a frame in the attic, and she got it down for me.”
His teeth gnawed at the chicken bone and he chewed and swallowed slowly. A bite of potato followed, and still he was silent. And then he pushed his plate aside and leveled his index finger in her direction.
“It’s almost full dark, sweetheart. Marshall’s on his way in right now, and once he gets settled down for the night, you’ve got about ten minutes all to yourself. Don’t make me wait.”
Chapter Eight
“This is what I wanted. I asked Shay to marry me.” Her words were fervent as Jenny slid from her clothing and into Shay’s shirt. Her gown torn beyond redemption, she’d slept in this shirt for three nights. She tugged it down over her legs, conscious that the hem ended just above her knees. Trembling fingers tangled in her hair as she tugged at her braid, and then knotted the strings of her petticoat as she reached beneath the shirt to shimmy from the folds of her underwear.
A brief knock on
her door, and then the turning of the knob, brought an end to her dithering, and she stepped from the circle of white at her feet. Bending, she picked up her dress and undergarments, aware of Shay standing in the doorway. Agonizingly aware of the bare length of her legs beneath the hem of his shirt.
“Should I go away and come back later?” he asked wryly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her knees and the curving line of her calves beneath the hem of his shirt. “I’ve checked on Marshall and put the cat outside and walked the length of the veranda three times.”
Jenny’s eyes widened at his words. “Did Marshall have that cat in his room? I told him she had to stay in the barn.”
“She was tucked under his sheet. And only too willing to go outdoors, once I set her free.” He closed the door behind himself, then leaned against it. “You didn’t answer my question, Jen. Can I stay?”
Her hands made a hash of the petticoat, folding it loosely, then shoving it into a dresser drawer. “Of course, you can stay,” she said shortly. “I don’t know why you thought you had to wander around out on the veranda anyway.” She turned from the dresser, clutching her dress to her bosom. “I’m just sorting things out. I think I’d better do some washing in the morning. I only have one clean dress left, and Isabelle says we’re in for rain before long. Of course, that’ll be good for the corn. It’s been dry—”
“Hush.” Shay’s negligent posture vanished as he moved across the room, reaching Jenny’s side in four long strides. “I don’t want you worrying about anything. You hear me?” His hands took the dress she held and tossed it aside, then took possession of her trembling fingers.
“There’s nothing to fret over, Jenny. I’m not going to pounce on you. We’ll do this your way. If you’re ready to be my wife, you know I’m more than willing. But if it’s been too quick…if you want to wait, I can do that, too.” His mouth twitched and his eyes softened, scanning her from the top of her head, where russet waves fell in a tangled mass across her shoulders and breasts, to the bare toes that curled against the floor.
“You look frightened.” His hands lifted hers to his mouth and he blessed each fingertip with a brush of his lips. “The last thing in this world I want is to put fear in your heart, Jen. If your mind is hauling up memories that give you pain, I’ll just be satisfied with some hugging and kissing for now.” His gaze met hers over their joined hands and his eyes narrowed. “But I won’t sleep upstairs. Don’t ask for that.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that. And my memories won’t come between us, Shay. I promise you that. You’ve already put to rest the bad dreams I had before you got here.” She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. “You belong here, in my bed. It’s just…different.”
“Different?” His mouth brushed her knuckles, breathing the query softly. “How so, sweetheart?”
She took her hands from his, and he let her go, allowing her fingers to slide from his grasp, remaining where he stood as she walked to the window. For this small confession, she could not face him, not allow him to see the shame in her eyes. And so she looked from the open window, past the climbing roses he’d helped her train to the trellis. The memory of that day brought a warmth to her heart, and she cherished it, adding it to the wealth of memories Shay had already given her.
“I was a virgin when I married Carl,” she began, her voice soft as she remembered that day, when life seemed so simple, when she’d been so young and untried.
“I would have expected that,” he said. “And I’m sure Carl was good to you.”
“Oh, yes,” she said hastily. “He was always…kind. Sometimes he was in a hurry, but he always thanked me, and kissed me.”
“Thanked you?” Shay’s words were halting. “For what?”
Jenny twisted her hands at her waist and felt her cheeks grow crimson. “You know, for letting him…for accommodating him.”
“You accommodated him?” Shay’s voice was near at hand, and she felt his warmth behind her. His breath ruffled her hair as he bent to speak against her ear, his words carefully enunciated. “You accommodated him?”
Jenny’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, and then were captured by Shay’s hands, his grip firm as he turned her to face him. “Yes,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes as she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I thought I loved Carl. I did love Carl,” she corrected quickly. “But I didn’t feel this way about him. Not the way…”
“Not the way you feel about me?” he asked.
Her nod was hesitant and her teeth bit into her lower lip. “Carl was good to me. He was. But he treated me like a china doll most of the time. I never knew what was going on outside of this house. He didn’t talk about the crops or the people who worked here, or what things cost or how much money we had. He just was very kind to me and sometimes, I felt like the only time he really saw me was when we climbed the stairs to go to bed.”
“He loved you, Jen. I’ll swear to that on a stack of Bibles, if it will make you feel any better about him. I saw the man when he was dying, and his last thoughts were of you and the boy.”
“I feel guilty, Shay.”
“Why? Because you feel something for me that you didn’t for Carl? Should I hang my head because you’re the first woman I’ve been willing to give my name to, and yet I’ve…”
She shook her head quickly. “I don’t want to hear about anyone else. Not tonight. Besides, that’s part of my guilt. I almost forced you into this.”
“Not on your life.” His denial was firm. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“I think I would have let you in here, even without the certificate,” she admitted, looking up at the wall over the headboard.
“I think you’d have backed out, sweetheart. It’s better this way, anyway. Now you won’t be thinking that I’ll leave you when the cotton’s picked.” His mouth was warm against her cheek and then his head turned as his gaze followed hers. “I’m just glad you had a frame up in the attic to fit that thing. I knew Isabelle wouldn’t be happy till she saw it hangin’ there.”
“Well I’m just glad George Potter had a certificate left. He said he was saving it for a special couple, remember?” Jenny said. “I’m glad we were the ones he chose. My mama would be pleased.”
“Where’s the one from your first wedding?” Shay asked.
“On the wall upstairs,” she told him. “I’ve kept it for Marshall. He’ll need to know about his father. I have a picture of Carl in his uniform, and a small portrait of me I’m saving for him.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, relaxing, as if a hurdle had been surmounted.
“Can I blow out the candle now?” he asked quietly. “Do we have things sorted out, or is there something else you need to talk about?”
“I need to tell you something else, but it will wait, I think.” Jenny stepped to the side of her bed and bent to blow out the candle. Pulling back the quilt and sheet, she fluffed her pillows, then sat on the edge of the bed. Shay was a dark shadow against the window, where only stars lit the sky.
And then he moved across the floor, his footsteps silent. Jenny brushed her feet across the braided rug, lest they be dusty against the sheets, then turned, rolling to her side, facing the empty place that would be Shay’s from now on. The rustle of fabric told her he was shedding his clothing, and then he was there, in one quick motion, occupying the space beside her. She saw him lift a bit, drawing his pillow beneath his head, watched as he leaned closer, and felt his hands guiding her to a spot on his shoulder.
She inhaled deeply, knowing the scent of him, recognizing the feel of male flesh against her belly, savoring the aroma of soap and skin, and the comfort of strong arms holding her. His mouth was warm and damp against her forehead and she lifted one palm to spread across his cheek, caressing his unflawed, clean-shaven jaw. The need to draw out this moment, to savor each breath was uppermost in her mind, and she sighed, willing Shay to be patient, to allow her these few seconds of pleasure.
And there was pleasure, bestowed by his mouth and his hands, his lips pressing soft caresses against her face and throat. She tilted her head, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his touch, sensing the harnessed power of his desire. He murmured against her skin, soft, broken phrases that pleased her, and she breathed in the heated scent of his arousal.
Beneath her touch, his body was firm and muscular as she slid her hand down from his hair, resting it against his bare shoulder, then to the sculpted lines of his back. He had come to her naked, and her palm swept the length of his spine, halting as she felt the rise of his hip.
“Jenny.” His voice was soft, his mouth only inches from hers, and as he asked permission, he nudged her, brushing his nose against hers. “Can I touch you, too? Or am I only to hug and kiss you, then?” Amusement traced each syllable, and she shook her head, just the least bit.
“All right, sweetheart.” The words smacked of satisfaction. “Now,” he murmured, drawing out the word as his mouth tasted hers, “do we have to do this with my shirt all wrapped around you? Or will you let me take it off?” He waited for less than a heartbeat, then the hand that was resting against her hip slid between their bodies to where the buttons awaited his touch. He slid them from the buttonholes easily, slowly, familiar with the ease with which they gave way. One long finger sliding beneath the fabric to test the flesh between each button, he drew out the anticipation like a fine silken thread spun by a spider weaving a web.
Her hands were restless, and then one slid upward, reaching for purchase against his head, fingertips edging past his hairline, then circling the nape of his neck. Her fingers curled, tensing against the muscles there, then spread wide, gripping his hair.
He was slow, precise and thorough, releasing each button in turn. Then, smoothing one hand over her shoulder, he slid the garment along the length of her upper arm. “Sit up, Jen.” he said, and her fingers tightened their grip, then relaxed, and she eased her arm from the sleeve. Sitting erect she dispensed easily with the other sleeve, then watched as he pulled the shirt free and tossed it to the floor.
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux Page 13