by Amanda Boone
“That’s it,” Mike said. “Harris. I’d forgotten his name.”
Bridget looked from one man to the other before she agreed. “All right, I’ll keep a positive attitude for now. But if things seem like they’re turning bad, I won’t hesitate to speak my mind.”
“You never do,” Mike chuckled.
Chapter 7
The newspaper printed its first edition about nine weeks later. Moya had turned out to be a natural at the telegraph machine. His presence in the office brought many people to the building to send personal messages to family and friends, which brought in some extra money for both Moya and the office.
At first, they only published news items from Sacramento, San Francisco or Redding, California. These articles were nationwide on some occasions and local to those cities at other times. They were current, though, and the citizens who could read appreciated the information, as they told Bridget often.
Locally, their first story came about a month into their operation, when a young boy raced into the office shouting that there had been an accident at the lumberyard. Mike grabbed his pencil, a small stack of blank paper on his desk, and a thin board to write on. Bridget scrambled after him.
By the time they got to the lumberyard, a crowd had gathered. Mike pushed his way through the mass of workers. Bridget managed to get past all the men with him. There she saw a man lying on the ground with another man kneeling over him. Jared stood nearby.
“Is he going to be all right, Doc?” Jared asked.
“Probably, but I won’t know until I get him back to the office and check him over carefully. Do you have a board wide enough for him to lie on so we can transport him? He tells me his back hurts.”
“Olson!” Jared called out. “See if you can find something.”
Mike stood beside Bridget, scribbling notes as the men conversed. Nearby, a blond man searched through the lumber. He threw pieces of wood around until he found what he was looking for.
“Will this one do, Doc?” Olson asked, hoisting a board about six feet long, three feet wide, and four inches thick above his head with both arms.
“That looks good,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to need at least two other men—strong men—to help us carry him to my office.”
Mike passed his writing materials to Bridget, saying, “Take this.” He turned toward the doctor. “I’m strong, Doc.” Then he faced Bridget again, taking off his jacket and handing it to her. “Follow us, Bridge.”
Once the men had carefully loaded the injured man on the board, Jared slid his arm around Bridget’s shoulders, and together they followed the doctor and his helpers to the doctor’s office.
Neither spoke, but Bridget’s mind was racing. She loved having his arm around her, but she was afraid to tell him. He had been true to his promise that he’d made before they married; he hadn’t even hinted at joining her in his bedroom at night. Their marriage was as yet unconsummated.
But she’d been so comfortable with him the last couple of months that she was finding herself attracted to the man. She’d seen him without his shirt, had watched as he changed into his nightshirt, the same nightshirt that he would put on before he removed his trousers. Jared was definitely a gentleman.
Now that she’d thought of it, though, he barely touched her—ever. Yes, he had his arm around her at that moment, but he never touched her in private. It was almost as if he regretted having married her and was only going through the motions publicly so he didn’t embarrass himself. She needed to talk to him about it that night.
They finally reached the doctor’s office, and Bridget felt awkward being there while he was examined, because the doctor began undressing him. After giving Mike his belongings back, she told Jared she was going back to the office if Mike needed her for anything, even though she didn’t believe he would.
When Mike hadn’t returned to the office by the time Bridget needed to leave to help Karin get dinner, she wrote a quick note telling him to come to the house if he needed her help with the printing press.
***
At the house, Karin said that she wasn’t feeling well and had done her best to keep her distance from Emily throughout the day. She asked if Bridget would mind if she went home early.
“Of course not,” Bridget said. “And if you still don’t feel well tomorrow, don’t bother coming to work. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Emily on my own. She can even come to the newspaper office with me. She might enjoy that.”
“Tank you, Bridyet,” Karin said with her Swedish accent. “I vill try to be here tomorrow.”
“If you’re still feeling poorly, stay home. I want you to get healthy, and we don’t want Emily getting whatever you have.”
By dinnertime, Jared was still not home. That was odd, because he was always home to join them. Then again, they’d only been married a little over a month. Why would she expect that she would know how busy he was at work on normal days? He could have been joining them just because he was trying to be a good husband. Maybe his normal working hours were long. After all, he was the manager of the company town, the mill, and the lumber company, which most likely entailed a lot of work.
But in her heart, she was afraid he was staying away because he didn’t want to be around her. Bridget’s mind told her not to be silly. If he hadn’t wanted to marry her, he hadn’t been obligated to. She’d given him every opportunity to change his mind.
Maybe he was angry because she hadn’t let him into her bed yet. She liked him a lot, although she didn’t think it was love. And since they were married, she had no reason not to let him come to her at night. She really didn’t want to lose Jared. She wanted to stay married to him and even have children with him. And she definitely didn’t want him to find another woman like Matthew had. She couldn’t bear that kind of humiliation a second time.
“Bridget?” Emily said from nearby, breaking into Bridget’s thoughts.
“What is it, sweetie?” Bridget asked.
“Where’s Daddy?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
“He always comes home to eat supper with me. Why didn’t he tonight?”
“Tell you what, Emily. Why don’t you and I put some food on a plate, cover it with a napkin, and take it over to his office?”
“Yes, let’s,” Emily said eagerly.
But Jared wasn’t at his office, and when they checked at the doctor’s office, he wasn’t there, either. Dr. Frey introduced himself and told Bridget that she should check at the newspaper office because Jared and Mike had said they were going there.
Since the house was on the way, Bridget suggested that they stop and get some food for Uncle Mike, too, before they headed over to the newspaper office. Emily agreed in her normal cheerful manner. The child had no inkling that something was amiss, and Bridget wished she could be so innocent.
When they arrived at the office, they found Jared, Mike and Moya sitting around the telegraph. The men stared at it so intently that Bridget thought they believed they could make it clickety-clack with their minds.
Chapter 8
“What are you doing?” Bridget asked.
The men started and spun to face her. Bridget laughed, but the men remained sober, obviously focused on something in their minds. This concerned her. If they were so fixated on the telegraph, something of import must be happening.
“Did something happen after I left the doctor’s office?” she asked, her voice filled with suspicion.
Emily burst around her and raced to her father. “Daddy! Where have you been?”
Jared picked up the child and put her on his lap as he explained, “We’ve been waiting for a reply to a telegram we sent. Is that food you’re carrying?”
“It is,” Bridget replied, “but I’m afraid I didn’t bring any for you, Moya.”
“Dat’s fine,” Moya replied. “I ate a home.”
Bridget passed the plates to Mike and Jared. With Emily on his lap, Jared dug into the food. “Thanks, ho
ney, I was starved.”
“It was my pleasure,” Bridget replied, pulling up a nearby chair and sitting down. “Now, who’s going to tell me what kind of telegram you’re waiting for?”
“We sent one to Harris and asked him to get back to us immediately. We’re just waiting for his reply.”
“And you sent a telegram to the owner of the lumber company why?”
“You’re going to ask until you get an answer, aren’t you,” Mike observed, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question. “All right then. The doctor doesn’t think the injury was an accident. He asked us to report it to Harris.”
“It takes three men to get an answer?”
“We’re all here for different reasons,” Jared explained. “Of course, Moya is here to operate the machine. I’m here for directions on how Harris wants to handle the matter, and your brother is here to get the story.”
“How long do you think it will take?” Bridget asked, more curious than angry, as the words sounded in her mind.
“Dere’s no telling,” Moya answered. “If he gets de message right avay, it could be yust a few more minutes. If he’s not at home and he has to be tracked down, it could take hours.”
Hoping that he would understand what she was doing, Bridget laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. For a man who spent most of his time behind a desk or running from place to place to keep an eye on things, he was built very well. She’d seen him without a shirt too many times to not notice his toned muscles, his flat, rippled abdomen, his narrow hips that were always covered with his trousers. She sighed. Oh, how she longed to see him naked!
Tonight was going to be the night. She didn’t care how late he was getting home. She was ready for him to join her in their bed, and she was determined that it would happen—no matter when he got home.
“Uh-oh, my sister is thinking again,” Mike said, taunting her back to the present.
She smiled at him. “Always. When you two are done eating, I need to take Emily home and get that little one ready for bed.” She turned her steady gaze to Jared. “I hope you won’t be too late. Somebody’s usually asleep by eight.”
“Me, right?” Emily asked.
“That’s right, dumplin’,” Jared replied. “And I’ll try to be home at a reasonable time.”
“That’s all I can ask,” Bridget said.
***
The wind-up clock on the fireplace mantle chimed eight times, then nine times—and ten. Jared still wasn’t home by ten-thirty. Was he avoiding her? Did he understand her signal and decide that he didn’t want to bed her? This was the most nerve-racking night of her life. She was ready to become a woman in every sense of the word, and her own husband didn’t seem to want her.
At ten-forty-five she disrobed and put on her nightgown. As much as it hurt her that he didn’t want her, she decided to go to bed.
A noise startled her, and she spun toward the open bedroom door. There in the doorway stood Jared, his brown eyes fixed on her. He strode up to her, his gaze not leaving her body. Bridget glanced down at herself. The thin, white material of her nightgown was translucent with the glow of the lantern behind her.
He stopped before her and laid his hands on her narrow waist. Without a word, he bent and kissed her on the lips, just a peck at first. But when she threw her arms around him to show her acceptance, he deepened the passion.
His lips ground against hers; his tongue darted into her mouth to clash with hers. She melted against his body and clung to him.
Then he pulled back, asking, “Does this mean you’re ready?”
“Absolutely,” she whispered.
“I got home while you were undressing,” he said, his voice cracking with his nervousness as he removed his shirt. “I couldn’t help but see you. You were standing in front of the bedroom door. You’re perfect.”
Bridget’s face heated in embarrassment. He had seen her naked. Then again, he was her husband. He was allowed to see her nude body.
While she stood before him, Jared removed his boots and tossed them aside. Then, as he watched the hem of her nightgown, he lifted it at the waist. It went higher—and higher, until it blocked her view of him as he lifted her arms and removed it.
Now that she stood naked before him, her embarrassment and purity became a memory of the past. Tentatively, as though she would get burned, she reached out to unbutton his trousers, one button at a time, as slowly and languorously as he had removed her nightgown.
She slid her hands over his bare hips to his buttocks, where she caressed him. Oh, how she loved the feel of him! She stepped against him, letting her nipples harden against the soft hair covering his chest. This felt so good that she could hardly believe she waited so long.
With her hands in his pants, she slipped them over his hips, glancing down to see his penis dancing in excitement.
Gazing up into his face, she said, “I thought you didn’t want me after we got married. I thought you were sorry that you did it.”
“I was just waiting for you, sweetheart,” he said as he finished removing his trousers.
Jared took her hand and escorted her to the bed, where he held her wrist as she lay down. He came down on the bed beside her, saying, “I love you, Bridget. I would never do something you don’t want.”
With those words, he kissed her deeply. His fingers learned her body as a blind man’s would, seeking out her curves and crevasses, taunting her breasts by moving his chest against hers. Then he kissed her forehead and moved to her nipple, where he suckled for several seconds.
Her body wouldn’t hold still for her. She’d thought she would be able to contain her excitement, but it wasn’t possible. Even when she and Matthew kissed, she hadn’t felt like this. She wanted him so badly she could barely stand it.
“Jared, please,” she whimpered. “I can’t wait any longer.”
He needed no more persuasion. He positioned himself at her heated womanhood and thrust into her. The pain tore through her for a few moments then lessened. He ground against her, pelvis to pelvis. Her hips gyrated in response.
Then something happened between her legs that she never imagined—she exploded in tremors that she could only classify as life-altering. Jared thrust into her a couple more times before he stiffened and groaned into her ear.
At last, he collapsed to the bed beside her, panting as though he was completely spent.
“My, God, Bridget,” he said. “You were definitely worth the wait, but I would have waited forever if I’d had to.”
Rolling onto her side, she draped his arm around her and laid her head on his shoulder. “It was worth the wait, Jared. Thank you for making it easy for me.”
He kissed her hair tenderly and began to stoke it. “I love you, Bridget. I honestly do. It’s been very hard for me to wait. My dreams are all of you and sharing my life with you.”
“I’ve had those dreams, too,” she admitted.
“Then you love me, too?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.
“I like you a lot, but I don’t know if I can love anybody.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll wait for that just like I waited for you. We should go to sleep now. It was a long day today, and it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
“What did you and Mike find out, anyway? Did you get that telegram you were waiting for?”
“We did, and it wasn’t encouraging. Harris doesn’t want us to follow up on it, so I won’t.”
“But that doesn’t mean that Mike won’t,” she said.
“Which is exactly why I’m not following up on it. Mike will keep me abreast of everything important. I’ll just be talking more with Rollie Parker, the man who was injured today. But I am going to help Mike in any way that won’t look like I’m working on the story with him. The power of the press, sweetheart, that’s how this case is going to get solved.”
Chapter 9
The next morning when Karin didn’t appear to watch Emily, Br
idget took her to the newspaper office. She set the child down at Moya’s desk, gave her some paper and a pencil, and asked Emily to draw a picture for her. Until Moya came into work, Bridget would just have to keep an eye on the child to make sure she didn’t play with the telegraph machine. When Mike was done working in his office, she would send Emily in there.
With Emily busy, Bridget went to sit down by Mike’s desk and question him. “What happened yesterday, Mike?”
“When Dr. Frey examined Palmer, he said that this wasn’t an accident. Somebody used a board with a lot of force and hit Palmer across the back. Doc said that the bruising couldn’t have been caused by a fall because of how clean the edges of it were.”
“What does that mean?”
“A two-by-four was used on him. I saw the injury myself, and I agree with Doc. Rollie Palmer was deliberately injured. That’s assault. It could have been with a deadly weapon if the person had hit Palmer over the head.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Bridget wondered aloud. “And why?”
“Palmer doesn’t know—or isn’t talking,” Mike said.
Bridget studied him suspiciously. Mike was being too cryptic for her liking, and she was getting the feeling that he was hiding something from her. To show that she knew what he was doing, she spoke in a maternal tone. “Michael O’Riley, you tell me everything.”
His green eyes lit in merriment. “You sounded exactly like Ma, Bridge.
“Stop avoiding the conversation. Tell me what you know.”
“Something’s going on here in Forestville. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, you know.”
And Mike proceeded to explain how Moya had been assaulted, as well, and nearly killed by a blow to the head. It wasn’t a lumberjacking accident. It was deliberate, according to Dr. Frey.
“I haven’t asked Moya about it,” Mike admitted, “but Dr. Frey was quite willing to talk. He knows that it was deliberate because of the type of injuries, just like with Palmer. Apparently, though, Moya doesn’t remember his attack, so they can’t go to the sheriff.”