Valley of Fire (The Mississippi McGills)

by Peggy Webb

  She whirled around and saw him emerging from underneath the bed, holding his nose with one hand and a mesh bag with the other.

  “Good grief. What is that stuff?”

  “It smells like a malodorous cow. Stand away from the window, Martha Ann.” He started around the bed, holding the bag well out in front of him.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “First I'm going to get this stinking concoction out of here, then I'm going outside and give it a decent burial.”

  He opened the window and tossed out the bag.

  o0o

  It landed at Clyde's feet. He'd gone out to feed the chickens, and at first he thought one of his hens had finally decided to lay an egg.

  “Good girl, Belinda.”

  Belinda ruffled her feathers and pecked his shin. Clyde bent over to rub his leg and saw the mesh bag.

  “My gosh, it's my love potion.”

  He picked the bag up and hurried into the house. Velma was standing at the stove breaking eggs into a skillet.

  “Look what I found, Velma, Right out there in the dirt.” Clyde held the bag aloft.

  “Shoot, Clyde. How did it get out there?”

  “I guess one of them found it under the bed and tossed it out without knowing what it was.”

  “Reckon it was there long enough to do the trick?”

  “I don't know. This love potion is supposed to be quick acting. Of course, I had to change the formula some. It could be that it will take a little longer.”

  “Well, put it back, Clyde.”

  “How can I do that? They're still in the bedroom.”

  “When they come out, you sneak back in there and put that love potion right back under the bed.”

  “Good morning.” Velma and Clyde jumped at the sound of Rick's voice. Clyde hid the love potion behind his back as Rick and Martha Ann walked into the kitchen.

  “Did you sleep well?” Velma asked.

  “Great.” Rick and Martha Ann lied at the same time, then looked sheepishly at each other.

  “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” Velma turned to her eggs which had gone beyond golden and were turning a rusty brown.

  “I'm not very hungry this morning,” Martha Ann said. “Do you mind if I pass?”

  “A good spot of fresh air might do you good.” Rick took her elbow. “If you don't mind, Velma, we’ll take a short walk. If you have any eggs left, we’ll eat them, and then we’ll clean up the kitchen for you.”

  Velma winked at Clyde. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Rick and Martha Ann hurried out the door. When the screen had closed behind them, Velma turned to Clyde.

  “Quick, Clyde. Put the potion back under the bed. I think it's working.”

  o0o

  Rick and Martha Ann didn't stop walking until they had reached the cottonwood tree beside the barn.

  “Good grief. The whole house smells like that.” She fanned her face with her hand.

  “Do you suppose it's Velma's cooking?”

  “Why would her food be in a bag under the bed?”

  “Beats me. Maybe Clyde was saving some for a midnight snack and forgot about it.” He walked to the barn and picked up the shovel that was leaning beside the door. “Do you want to watch me bury the stuff?”

  “Yes. I won't breathe easy until I know it's six feet under the ground.”

  Rick laughed and flexed his muscles. “Granted, I do have muscles, my dear. But I wasn't planning to bury it quite that deep.”

  Laughing, they walked across the yard until they came to a spot a few feet from their bedroom window.

  “The bag should be here somewhere.” Rick kicked a few corncobs out of the way. Belinda and the rest of the chickens clucked angrily at him.

  “How far did you toss it?”

  “Not far.”

  They spent ten minutes searching for the lost bag. Finally they gave up and carried the shovel back to the barn.

  “Where do you suppose the bag is?” Martha Ann asked.

  “It doesn't matter. At least it's not in our bedroom.”

  They went back inside to do the breakfast dishes. Clyde and Velma showed them the leftover eggs, and then excused themselves to work in the vegetable garden.

  As soon as the Running Bears were out of earshot, Rick turned to Martha Ann.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Certainly. I'm going to find Velma's dish washing liquid.” She bent over and began to search the lower cabinets. “I'm sure she keeps it here somewhere.”

  She felt two large hands circle her waist. “What in the world are you doing? A woman in your condition should not be doing dishes.”

  “Good grief. I'm perfectly fine. Just a little pregnant.”

  He laughed. “How does one become a little pregnant, Martha Ann?”

  With a little lie, she thought. But she certainly didn't say that. She stayed bent over, searching for the dish washing liquid. His hands were still around her waist. In fact, they were massaging her torso in a wonderfully exciting way.

  She thanked her favorite saint that she was wearing her own clothes today instead of Velma's exotic harem outfit that bared about four square feet of skin. Gracious, if Rick McGill only knew what he did to her! She stuck her head further under the sink and took a long, steadying breath.

  “My husband did it.”

  “What did you say?” Rick moved closer. The back of her legs were now pressed intimately against the front of his. “I can't hear you with your head under the sink.”

  “Never mind.” She couldn't stay under the sink forever. Sooner or later she'd have to come out and face Rick. She began to back out, bottle in hand. He still had his hands around her waist.

  When she started to straighten up, Rick turned her expertly so that she was in his arms, face-to-face with him.

  Pamper, indeed, she thought. That was just another word for seduce. As incredible as it seemed, he was not above trying to seduce a pregnant woman. He was a scoundrel through and through. But, oh my. Standing in his arms she almost sighed. Why did he have to be such a lovable scoundrel?

  “Here, let me take that.” His voice was soft as he plucked the dish washing liquid out of her hands and set it on the kitchen counter. “We can't have you exerting yourself.”

  “There's really no need for all this. I'm perfectly fine.” Her protest was weak, and she knew it. Being in Rick's arms did that to her. She lost most of her sense and all of her willpower.

  “I’ll have to find out for myself.” He gently caressed the side of her throat. “Checking your pulse.” His dark eyes twinkled with devilment. “It's a little fast. I do believe I'm going to have to take you to bed.”

  “Take me to bed?”

  “To rest. What did you think I meant?”

  “Naturally, that's what I thought you meant.”

  His hand was still on her throat. Now he moved it up to cup her cheek.

  “Your face is flushed. Do you think that's significant?”

  “It just means I'm a little hot.” She was hot all right, but not from any physical condition, unless you could count terminal bad judgment of men.

  “You are?” He smiled his devilish smile again.

  “Perhaps I should sit down.” She would use any excuse to get out of her present predicament.

  “An excellent idea.” Before she knew what was happening, Rick had scooped her up in his arms and was carrying her toward a rocking chair. “We can't have you on your feet too much.”

  “This is perfectly ridiculous. Put me down.”

  “I'd ruin my reputation if I did.”

  “And what reputation is that? Chasing married women?”

  “How you wound me, my pet.” He chuckled. “Actually, it's the reputation of the entire McGill clan. We're known far and wide for the exquisite care we take of pregnant women.” He kissed her cheek. “Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm going to take good care of you until we find your lost husband.”

  She had
created a monster. Why couldn't he be the type of man who was scared to death of pregnant women?

  “That's what I'm afraid of,” she muttered.

  “Did you say something, my sweet?”

  “I said, 'The chair is right there.' You can put me down.”

  “Do you think I'd put you in a chair without checking it out first? And you in your condition?” He sat down in the rocking chair, arranged her in his lap, and began to rock. “Hmmm... ahhh, yes.” He pulled her a little closer. “This does quite nicely.... Yes, indeed.”

  She had never before had the urge to make love in a rocking chair. But she did now. The rocking motion of the chair and the intimacy of sitting on his lap gave her notions she didn't want to be having.

  “Hmmmm.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “You like that, do you?”

  “Ahhh, yes....” She closed her eyes, inhaling the clean masculine scent of him.

  He tipped her chin up with one finger. She opened her eyes in time to see him lowering his mouth toward hers.

  “No.” Her protest was weak and then louder. “NO!”

  With his mouth only a fraction of an inch from hers, he asked, “What's the matter? Did you think I was going to kiss you?” His warm breath stirred against her cheek.

  “Weren't you?”

  “No. I was checking your face for signs of fatigue. Pregnant women tire easily.”

  “How could I possibly be tired? You won't even let me walk across the floor by myself.”

  “You have to save your strength.”

  “For what?”

  “For the baby.” He stood up and deposited her carefully in the chair. “Wait right there, my pet.”

  She thought of leaving but there was nowhere to go except to the bedroom or outside. She certainly didn't want to be cornered in the bedroom with Rick. The night to come was soon enough for another trial by fire in that chamber of love. And if she went outside, she was sure to get caught up in another of Clyde's and Velma's matchmaking schemes. She decided to wait in the chair to see what Rick would come up with next.

  “Here, my pet. Drink your milk.”

  She'd been so busy thinking, she hadn't noticed what he was doing. Now he stood in front of her holding a very tall, very full glass of milk. She hated milk.

  “I don't want it.”

  “Don't you want your baby to have healthy bones and teeth? I insist.” He held the glass to her lips.

  She took a small sip and made a face. It was worse than she had expected.

  Rick pretended not to notice. He put the glass in her hand and dragged up a stool for her feet.

  “Comfortable, my sweet?” He didn't wait for a reply. “I’ll do the dishes while you drink your milk.”

  He went to the kitchen counter whistling. He was thoroughly enjoying this latest episode with the mendacious Mrs. Lucky O'Grady. He put a pan of water on to heat and glanced over his shoulder at Martha Ann. She was sipping and frowning as if she had a glass of motor oil in her hand.

  He had an attack of conscience, but it was only a small one. He supposed he'd exacted enough revenge for her latest lie. It had all been in fun anyway. Except the kisses. They had started out as fun, but somewhere between the Valley of Fire and the curtain-draped bedroom they had turned into something else.

  He poured the hot water into the dishpan as he tried to analyze exactly what Martha Ann Riley's kisses had become. Sweet. Delicious. Hot. Steamy. The few words were apt but entirely inadequate. How could a man describe something that seemed to touch his soul?

  He glanced at her again. She looked serene sitting in the rocking chair with her feet propped up. She was no longer making any pretense of sipping the milk; she was merely staring into space, a half-smile on her lips. He almost believed in the myth of her pregnancy. She glowed, she had the look.

  What would it be like to have a pregnant wife? To know that a woman was carrying his child?

  It was something he'd never thought of before. He'd only thought in terms of his fun and his freedom. Even when he'd considered that he would someday settle down, he hadn't thought of having children.

  As he turned his attention back to the dishes, his best friend came into mind. If ever there was a man who adored his wife and family, it was Jacob Donovan. He was the same old devil-may-care, quick-to-laugh Jacob, but these days he was settling for supervising his oil field fire fighters instead of being in the thick of the blaze himself. That and full-time doting. If ever a man doted, it was Jacob. To hear him tell it, his two boys, Benjamin and Joseph, were the smartest, brightest children in Greenville. His wife Rachel, in the eighth month of her pregnancy with twins, had confided that Jacob was spoiling all of them.

  She adored it, of course. That Rachel Donovan was some woman.

  Martha Ann was like her in some ways—full of fun and spirit, given to quick laughter and quick passions. Jacob Donovan had fallen under Rachel's spell not once, but twice. Rick decided that it might behoove him to exercise a little caution around Martha Ann. He had no intention of falling under anybody's spell, and he certainly had no intention of settling into domestic bliss this early in his life.

  “The dishes are all done, my sweet. I think I'll take another look at that tractor. Maybe I can get it running.”

  Rick left the kitchen with unusual haste. Martha Ann told herself she should be relieved. No more pampering and no more steamy caresses. She left the rocking chair and put the unfinished glass of milk in the refrigerator. It would be there in case Rick wanted to force more calcium on her.

  Together the two clocks on the wall struck twenty. Only ten o'clock. Twelve more hours until she had to climb into that bed again with Rick McGill. She figured she would use the time wisely by shoring up her weakened defenses. And the only way she knew how to do that was to avoid seeing him.

  She went outside, found Velma, and lined up enough chores to last her until nighttime.

  o0o

  That evening she was in bed long before Rick. Pleading tiredness, she'd gone to bed early, leaving him watching a sitcom and a detective show with the Running Bears.

  The first thing she noticed when she went into the bedroom was the smell. Good grief. Not again. She turned on the light and searched the room. Sure enough, the little mesh bag was right back under the bed. She picked it up gingerly and tossed it back out the window.

  The only way she knew to get rid of the smell was to light the scented candles. So she did. All of them.

  When he came into the room, she was lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, surrounded by gossamer curtains and blazing candles.

  “I see you've prepared for me.”

  “Oh, hush up and come to bed.” During the day she'd washed Velma's clothes at the creek, helped her can six quarts of tomatoes, and learned to needlepoint. But it hadn't helped one bit in getting Rick McGill out of her mind. She was tired, and she was testy.

  “Eager, are you, my pet?” His clothes hit the floor with a plop, and he climbed in beside her.

  “If you so much as put one foot on my side of the bed, I'll scream.”

  “You shouldn't scare a fellow like that.”

  “Humph.” She flopped over and turned her back to him.

  “Good night, my pet.” He reached over and patted her bottom.

  She jumped at his touch. He chuckled.

  “Muscle spasms,” she said. “You had nothing to do with it.”

  “I'll have to try harder next time.”

  “I keep hoping there won't be a next time.”

  “Haven't you noticed? There always is with us.”

  He turned on his side, facing her, and his hand flopped casually onto her shoulder. She pretended not to notice.

  So did he. She was just an ordinary woman, he told himself. Extraordinarily good-looking, to be sure. And warm and spirited and funny. But still, she was only a passing amusement. So why did he feel as if electric currents were running from her skin through his hand? He wasn't going to move it
though. He didn't want her to think that he thought of her as anything except a quarry.

  He shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

  So did she. He was just another man of the wrong kind, she told herself. Extremely good-looking, of course. And warm and bright and funny. But still, he was only a temporary amusement, a little added spice in her life while she was finding Lucky.

  Then why did the merest touch of his hand make her feel as if she were melting? She wasn't going to move though. She didn't want him to think that she thought of him as anything except a means of finding her make-believe husband.

  The minutes ticked by. They lay stiffly side by side, barely touching but feeling as if they were locked in a full body press with each other. It was exquisite torture. She was torn between hoping he would pull her into his arms and wanting to roll out of his reach.

  He was torn between turning his back to her and pinning her beneath him on the sagging mattress and giving vent to his passion.

  She shut her eyes and counted the number of times he had kissed her.

  He stared at the ceiling and counted the number of times he could have had her and didn't.

  She decided that she was hopelessly addicted to scoundrels.

  He decided that he was in grave danger of losing his freedom.

  Finally she spoke. “You forgot to blow out the candles.”

  It was the excuse he needed to move his hand off her shoulder without seeming too obvious about it. He jumped out of bed with such alacrity, the bed-springs vibrated.

  That's all she needed, Martha Ann thought. A vibrating bed. In her state of mind, though, any relief was welcome. She tried not to notice Rick as he marched around the room in his shorts blowing out candles. But how could she help herself? He was so good-looking.

  At last the room was dark, and he came back to bed. This time he was excruciatingly careful not to touch her.

  And finally they both slept.

  o0o

  The next morning Martha Ann got out of bed and dressed before Rick was even awake. Holding her shoes in her hand, she tiptoed out the door. Once she'd closed the door, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. She'd gotten through the night without a close encounter. She didn't think she could get through one more night in that bed without some help. She had to figure out a plan.