by Merry Farmer
They regarded each other in charged silence for a moment before Franklin cleared his throat and said, “I figure we can take turns.” He unfolded the screen all the way. “You go first and I’ll wait on the sofa, then I’ll wash.”
Twin feelings of excitement and disappointment flooded Corva from both sides, leaving her stunned and shy. Was she wrong about the energy pulsing between them? She marched up to the tub and emptied the boiling water. Maybe she had imagined the hunger in his eyes on the wagon ride home, was imagining it now. She knew so little about intimacies between men and women that she could be getting it all wrong.
“I suppose everyone in town will know who I am now,” she made conversation to hide her uncertainty, returning to the kitchen to get the other pot and kettle of boiling water. She didn’t want to be wrong about the shift in their relationship.
Franklin chuckled. “No doubt.”
He had already removed his jacket and laid it over the arm of the sofa as she carried the pot and kettle to the tub, and now sat, removing his braces. Corva was sorely tempted to watch him peel them off completely, but if she wanted a bath that was even a little warm, she needed to boil more water.
“I take it that sort of thing doesn’t usually happen in baseball games.” She carried the pot and kettle back to the kitchen to refill and reheat.
“I should say not,” Franklin laughed.
The instinct to read volumes into that comment had Corva clenching her jaw in frustration with herself. Why was it so easy to believe people thought the worst of her and so hard to accept compliments when they came?
“The best part is that the Bears lost,” Franklin continued, shuffling something in the other room. “That ought to keep Bonneville quiet for a while.”
“It won’t make him twice as mad about the calves?” She dipped her fingers in the water to test how fast it was heating, then crossed to the doorway to wait.
Her heart stopped beating and a shiver passed through her at the sight of Franklin standing in front of the sofa, facing to the side, with his shirt unbuttoned and shoes off. He’d removed the braces from his legs too, and his trousers hung loose. Aside from those trousers being crumpled where the braces had been buckled, he looked every bit a whole, fit man.
“Possibly,” he went on, not seeing her watching him. “But it’s just as likely he’ll lay low for a while to avoid any sort of talk with his name in it.”
He turned to face her. Their eyes met. Swirls of warmth of a sort she’d never felt before pulsed through her. It was too complex to call admiration. All Corva knew was that she wanted to keep looking and looking at her husband, and more. The look was in his eyes too, growing fiercer by the moment.
“Sorry.” He twisted away from her and began to do up the buttons of his shirt, but without his braces, he wobbled dangerously and had to hold still to regain his balance. Once he had, he lifted his arms in a helpless gesture. “I hope you don’t mind. We are married, after all.”
“I don’t mind.” Her voice came out in a rough squeak. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him—the lean lines of his torso, the broadness of his shoulders. He was everything she had ever prayed for in a man. Now she prayed to know what she should do, how she should be a good wife.
Her prayers were interrupted by the bubble of boiling water on the stove behind her, and she whipped around, rushing to the stove. Her cheeks were far hotter than the kettle and pots, and so were other parts of her. The ache and pull inside of her was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Was she supposed to feel that way at the glimpse of a man’s chest through his shirt? The blessedly few times she’d caught her uncle in a state of undress had inspired revulsion, not this…yearning.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered to herself, grabbing the larger pot from the stove.
When she returned to the main room to pour the water into the tub, Franklin had moved to a cupboard at the side of the room and was searching through cakes of soap, towels draped over his bare arm. Heaven help her, but his back looked as good as his front. She rushed into the kitchen to fetch the rest of the water before her thoughts drifted any further.
By the time she poured out the last of the boiled water and returned the empty vessels to the kitchen, the main room was far hotter than she remembered.
“I’ve set the towels and soap on a stool by the tub,” Franklin said as he walked carefully to the sofa on the other side of the screen from the tub. “There’s a washcloth for you draped over the side of the tub. Don’t worry about getting dirt on the floor as you undress. We can clean that up later. Do you need help with buttons?”
A hitch caught in Corva’s chest. She had done up the buttons herself, so she could undo them too, but that nervous, excited part of her nodded and stepped forward. Her heart raced a mile a minute as she reached him, then turned her back to him.
His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he undid the top button of her high collar, and a bolt of electricity zipped through her. “How accomplished of a seamstress are you?”
“Hmm?” His feather-light touch as he worked on her buttons was too much of a distraction for her to form a real answer, or comprehend what he’d asked. His warm, throaty chuckle that followed didn’t help her focus at all.
“I don’t know much about women’s dresses, but this one looks like it’s had it.” His hands reached the curve of her spine between her shoulder blades. “You can try to repair it if you want, but I’m more than happy to buy you a whole closet full of new clothes. That’s actually something I’ve wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” The single word came out as a shaky trill.
He paused as he reached the top of her chemise. For a moment, even the air stood still. He leaned closer to her. Corva could feel his heat, feel the whisper of his breath against her neck. His hands continued down, undoing buttons, slower, as if savoring each one.
“I’m your husband.” His voice was heavy with promise, the words tickling against her skin with such intensity that she tensed. “I’ll give you anything you want, all you have to do is ask.”
Excitement prickled along her skin, but Corva didn’t know what to say. Franklin made her feel so safe, so cherished, but so confused at the same time. She glanced down at her hands in front of her, watching them tremble.
“Corva.” Franklin spoke her name in a new tone of voice, tender and true.
He rested a hand on her arm, urging her to turn to face him. When she did, heart fluttering with hope, he was smiling. That smile, warm and gentle, set her head spinning.
“You truly were brilliant today,” he went on, taking her hands. He raised them, kissing the knuckles of one, then the other. His cheeks were flushed, and for a moment he hesitated. Just when she thought her heart couldn’t bear his silence for another minute, he raised his eyes to meet hers and said, “I want to be a good husband to you, but I don’t know how to begin.”
Corva drew in a breath. His worries were so similar to her own. Strange though it was, that filled her with confidence. “I don’t know either, but I’m willing to find out.”
His smile spread, and he brushed a hand along her jaw, cradling her face. “We worked so well together today that I…that I found myself thinking…” He glanced modestly to the side, then back at her with an earnest passion. “I found myself thinking that we could work well together tonight.”
Prickles of joy and expectation sizzled through Corva. She smiled, nodding through her sudden burst of shyness. “I’d like that.”
“You would?” His brow rose in surprise.
Corva giggled. “Yes. You are my husband. I am yours in every way. I…I trust you.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken those words.
“Oh, Corva.” Franklin let out a breath, holding her face with both hands. “I promise I will do my best to honor you in every way,” he whispered, then leaned in for a kiss.
Corva’s heart leapt for joy at that kiss as she closed her eyes and leaned into him. The time had come�
��the time when she grew away from the frightened girl she’d been and into a worthy woman. The time had come for her to be a wife.
Franklin awoke bright and early the next morning to a sensation he hadn’t felt in years—contentment. Yes, his legs ached a little, he had a full day of ranch work ahead of him, and chances were that Bonneville would cause some sort of trouble. But he was warm and relaxed in bed, and he held his sleeping wife in his arms.
Corva fit so perfectly against him. He smiled and planted a soft kiss on her shoulder at the memory of all they’d shared the night before, careful not to wake her. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what it would be like to take her to bed, but the reality of the two of them together was a thousand times more precious than anything he had imagined. Most importantly of all, she had seen his legs, seen the scars and the bruises, and wanted him anyhow.
He slipped out of bed as silently as he could, checking constantly to be sure he didn’t disturb Corva. He was always a little unsteady in the morning, but as he crept around the bed, grabbed clean clothes, and snuck out into the main room, using the rails built into the wall to stay upright, it was as if his heart gave him wings.
The mess that waited for him by the fireplace brought him firmly back to earth with a thud. His brass bathtub still sat by the fire, the water cooled to room-temperature. They’d tracked dirt all over the floor as well. Franklin moved to the sofa to dress, then strapped on his braces, which still sat on the floor where he’d left them. Normally, he would wait until the last minute to put them on, but one look around the room told him he would need extra strength that morning.
By the time Corva stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in one of her simple work dresses, her hair pulled back in a braid, Franklin had emptied the tub and was mopping the floor. He paused what he was doing to tell her, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” A pink blush tinted her cheeks, and she glanced down, smiling from ear to ear.
Her modest beauty took Franklin’s breath away and left him seriously debating forgetting about work and spending the rest of the day in bed with her.
“Are you hungry?” she asked a moment later, shaking herself out of her shyness and crossing the room to the kitchen. “I should have gotten up earlier to start breakfast. Something hearty this morning, I think.”
Franklin abandoned his mop to follow her. He caught up to her at the kitchen counter, closing his arms around her. Corva gasped at his touch, then turned to face him. He swept her into an embrace, and slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss that would say far more than any feeble words he tried to put together.
She relaxed into him, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment when he ended their kiss.
“Yes,” he murmured, settling his hands at her waist, loving the feeling of her against him. “Something hearty is definitely in order.”
He kissed her again, then let her go, though it took a colossal effort. How did husbands across the world ever let their wives go once they had them in their arms?
The answer came in the form of a room that needed him to finish cleaning it and a breakfast that wouldn’t make itself. The work was easy now that he had this new song in his heart. He was certain that everything else in his life would be bright and new too.
“I might try riding out with the boys to manage the herd today,” he told Corva as they sat across the breakfast table together. Suddenly, sharing every detail of his daily life with her was vital. “Maybe if Bonneville sees that we’re serious about keeping an eye on our cattle, he and his men won’t try anything funny. Not that they’d dare try anything after yesterday.”
“I suppose not.” Corva pushed her eggs around her plate with her fork, her cheeks still as pink as roses.
“It’s calving season anyhow, so we’re likely to see a few more born on any given day. The sooner we can get them back to the barnyard where they can be tended to, the better.”
“Yes.” She reached for her coffee, not meeting his eyes.
“I’ll try to get back here early tonight for supper,” he went on, a long-forgotten smile spreading across his lips. It felt so good to smile. It felt good to share. “Not sure what we could fix to eat, but we’ll find something.”
“I…I could go in to the mercantile and do some shopping,” Corva offered.
“What a grand idea. That way you can get out of the house a bit and maybe even see some of the people you met yesterday.” He pushed his chair back and stood, carrying his plate and coffee mug to the kitchen. He glanced across one of Corva’s paintings that hadn’t been hung as he went. It leaned against the wall as if waiting for a home. “Maybe you could take some of your paintings with you,” he suggested. “I bet Lex Kline would be willing to sell them in his store. You might be able to make some decent pocket money while you’re at it.”
A long pause followed as he deposited his dishes in the sink before a small, hesitant, “Yes, maybe,” floated through the doorway.
Franklin frowned. That didn’t sound right. Corva was happy this morning. Shy, but happy.
He left the kitchen and crossed to the front door and the peg where he hung his work hat and his cane. Corva was still seated at the table, staring at one of her paintings on the wall across from her seat at the table.
“Everything all right?” he asked, a twist of uncertainty in his gut.
She sucked in a breath and shook herself out of whatever thoughts she had. “Fine.” She stood, hurrying to gather her things and clear the table.
Franklin reached for the doorknob, but hesitated. Was it his imagination, or was she not looking at him? Was she upset? Had he somehow hurt her last night in his ardor? He searched back over everything that had happened between them, looking for any sign that she hadn’t been as swept away with passion as he had been. Nothing at all indicated that she’d been uncomfortable with their love-making.
He glanced to the clock on the wall by the dining table. “I need to get over to Dad’s house,” he said, regretting the words. “We’ll talk later, when I get home.”
Corva was still fussing with the breakfast things around the table, but she glanced up, smiled briefly, and nodded. “All right. Enjoy your day.”
He smiled back, glad that he could at least do that now that she’d broken through the misery around his heart. Then he fit his hat on his head, gripped his cane, and headed out the door. Whether there was trouble or not—and how could there be after such a dazzling night?—Franklin was only sure of one thing. He had a lot to learn about women. He had a lot to learn about his wife.
Chapter 9
The war that was taking place in Corva’s heart was hard to ignore and impossible to brush away by telling herself she was being silly. She and Franklin had shared something special the night before, something amazing. So why had he acted so…so normal this morning? They’d shared a kiss in the kitchen, true, but then he’d gone on to talk about ranch business? He’d dashed off to work without a single lingering glance or sweet words. He hadn’t told her he loved her.
She shook her head and sucked in a breath as she pushed away from the kitchen sink, dishes washed and dried. Growing up with her aunt and uncle had taught her nothing about how a marriage should work, but surely, if the intimacies she and Franklin had shared meant as much to him as they had to her, he would have behaved differently somehow, wouldn’t he? She just didn’t know enough to rest perfectly easily.
And he’d told her to get rid of her paintings.
That was like an arrow in her heart. She walked into the main room and looked around at her artwork—her comfort and her friends. He wanted nothing to do with them, wanted them out of his house. Corva clutched a hand to her heart, fighting off the sensation that in order to be safe and loved by her husband, she had to give up part of who she was and blend into his life entirely.
“It’s worth it,” she whispered, crossing to the small stack of paintings she hadn’t hung yet. But even though the words passed her lips easily, her heart squi
rmed and wrestled with the idea. Safety was a wonderful thing, but was anything worth losing herself?
When she stepped outside, two paintings under her arm to take to the mercantile, she was surprised to find the wagon hitched and ready for her to drive. She stopped and stared at it for a moment. If the wagon was here, waiting for her, how had Franklin gotten to his father’s house? Could he have walked all that way, just so she could have the wagon?
The idea seemed preposterous, but there was the wagon, all for her. She wasn’t about to let it go to waste. With her paintings under one arm, she marched over and climbed up. Corva didn’t consider herself the best driver, but she’d run errands for her aunt and uncle through the crowded streets of Nashville enough times to manage it. Driving across wide open plains was far easier than navigating city streets. Even when she reached the outskirts of Haskell and the livery where people from the outlying ranches parked on visits to town, she was able to coax the horse to a stop.
“Whoa, whoa there. Good morning, Mrs. Haskell.” A cheery-faced man stepped out of the large stable and approached Corva to lend a hand.
“Hello?” Corva answered uncertainly.
The man gave Franklin’s horse a quick pat, then rushed to help her down. “Herb Waters, ma’am,” he introduced himself, and before Corva’s feet could touch the ground, went on to say, “That was some mighty fine baseball you played yesterday.”
A hot blush flooded Corva’s face, and she looked down. “Thank you. It was…unexpected, to say the least.”
Mr. Waters laughed and clapped her shoulder a little harder than was proper. “I don’t suppose you could see the look on Rex Bonneville’s face when you went sliding into home, but it was a sight, I can assure you.”