JOE'S WIFE

by Cheryl St. John

  "I had to keep looking to the future," she said. He'd reined in near an outcropping of rust-colored rocks, and she stopped beside him. "Every day and every night I prayed for the war to end, and for…"

  "For Joe to come home?"

  Tears blurred her vision. "Yes. And my self-pity was so small, considering what he was probably going through, what all of you were going through."

  "You couldn't have spent much time feeling sorry for yourself. You had too much work to do."

  She shrugged. "Some."

  "You wouldn't have been human if you hadn't felt a little sorry for yourself."

  "Did you?"

  "Sure. Cried in my beans every time my toes got so cold I couldn't feel them anymore. Once my regiment got lost, and after marching in circles for two days, we stumbled into a whole camp of Rebs. After the smoke cleared and the remainder of us hightailed it for cover… Well, let's just say that was one of my more self-pitying days."

  Meg studied his profile against the late afternoon sun. Tye was always frank. And he always managed to make her feel better about herself … about nearly everything … except Joe.

  At first she'd been so appreciative of his insight into the probability of the army actually having shipped the correct body. She'd experienced a certain kinship because he'd been a soldier like her Joe.

  But now … now so many confusing elements played into her already chaotic feelings that he was more a chafing reminder than a comfort.

  He reminded her that Joe was gone.

  He reminded her of all that she'd lost.

  And he reminded her that she was a woman.

  A woman who'd loved her husband. She'd wanted to be Joe's wife since she'd been a young girl. She'd dreamed of it, planned for it, waited for the day. And she'd married him and pledged her love and fidelity.

  Meg tried to recall how those vows about "until death do us part" went. She certainly hadn't stopped loving Joe after his death. What had that part meant?

  "So does that sound okay with you?"

  She refocused. "What's that?"

  "Eve coming to camp with us."

  "I guess we don't have a choice, do we?" Any choice had been Tye's when he'd accepted responsibility for the child.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, "Do you resent her? Or the extra work?"

  Meg looked inside herself and replied honestly. "No, Tye. I don't resent her. I'm grateful for her company."

  He adjusted his hat, an unnecessary act but obviously a gesture to cover his reaction to that comment. Nudging his horse with his heels, he picked up their pace.

  Tye spent that very evening in town. But this time he didn't wake her when he came to bed.

  A long and tiring week passed until the rain stopped and the sun came out and roundup began. Hunt and Aldo rode out with the other reps to locate and sort strays. Gus and Lem Higgins set up camp. The two old men entertained Eve while they cooked and doctored ranch hands and kept fires going.

  After chasing cattle, smelling scorched hides and watching dehorning, Meg didn't eat much that first evening. The men bathed in the river, then Tye followed her to the bank and stood guard with his back turned while she washed in the frigid water.

  The rest of the men played poker, but Tye read from Alice in Wonderland by the fire. Ever since Meg had spoken to him, he'd made a particular effort to spend time with the child. A few times he'd even brushed her hair until she grew sleepy-eyed.

  Meg watched him now, reading to Eve, patiently stopping to answer her never-ending questions. Against her will, her thoughts strayed to all the nights the past week that he'd come to bed and not touched her.

  She should have been happy because she didn't have to experience the sanity-eating guilt that had followed both highly charged encounters.

  She had only her experiences with Joe to compare with what had happened between her and Tye, and the comparison shamed her. She'd been happy with Joe. She'd loved him. Theirs had been a respectful, appropriate relationship.

  Tye, on the other hand, made her crazy.

  She hadn't married him for love. The physical details of their marriage were supposed to be perfunctory and matter-of-fact, not disturbing and memorable—definitely not unforgettable. The fact that she was even thinking about it now was all wrong. What on earth was the matter with her?

  Tye settled Eve into her bedroll, spoke with Gus, then saddled a fresh horse and rode off.

  Meg dragged her aching body into her own roll, clamped her eyes shut and cursed herself. Why did she get so angry over what he did in town at night?

  He wasn't visiting the sporting women, of that she was fairly sure. He'd have to be more than a mere mortal to keep up the pace he did during the day and entertain ladies in the evening.

  This camp would keep them apart at night now, and she should be grateful for the time to regroup. She had to force her thoughts on to other subjects, and she hated herself for that growing weakness.

  She awoke once during the night, glanced toward Eve and discovered Tye awake on Eve's other side. Their eyes met in the waning firelight, his dark and vigilant.

  "Go back to sleep," he said softly. "You have a couple of hours left." She closed her eyes and obeyed.

  Several evenings later, the reps from the Double Oarlock, along with Mitch Heden, shared their campfire and their meal. Meg scooped a ladle of stew over Tye's biscuits.

  "Thank you, ma'am," he said, and moved to sit with the others.

  Meg served the next hand, prepared herself a plate and sat on one of the few stools Gus had brought along.

  Mitch spoke to Tye, and they laughed.

  She hadn't seen him laugh often. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his teeth shone white in the stubble that covered his face since they'd been camped.

  He sat perched on his bedroll, his right leg extended as it usually was. He'd unbuttoned his leather jacket and left his hat somewhere. The firelight danced on his hair.

  Here among these men, he seemed no different than any of them. If the reps or the ranchers on this roundup considered Tye beneath them, they hadn't shown it. Mitch spoke to him the way he did to any rancher.

  Tye glanced up and met her gaze.

  She smiled and broke off a piece of her biscuit.

  Ma'am, he'd called her again. They'd shared the intimacies of the marriage bed in the dark, but he never called her by name. As she remembered his forceful insistence that she say his, and the obvious pleasure it gave him, a glow that she had no business conjuring up tonight or any night ignited inside her.

  She tamped the feelings down, unwilling to give them credence, afraid to give them a name. She had a level head and a goal in her sights. Tye was her partner. Feeling more than friendship or even fondness and appreciation wasn't in the plan.

  Meg finished her meal and helped Lem wash the tin plates and cups in a bucket. Gus left for the Circle T to check on Purdy and the house. Mitch and his men called their thanks and rode back to their herd.

  Eve had moved to stand beside Tye. He snagged her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap, where she sat, content to stroke the dress of the doll she seldom laid down.

  "Are you leaving tonight?" she asked, and Meg strained to hear his reply.

  "I was thinkin' on it," he said.

  "Where do you go?"

  "I have things to take care of in town. Grown up things."

  "Maybe I can come with you."

  He studied her face. "I don't think so. You need to stay here and go to sleep."

  "I'm not tired."

  Meg observed Tye's gentle expression. Eve gave him one of those pleading, violet-eyed looks. He shifted her to his other leg. "I don't have to go until later."

  The child bounced delightedly and patted his cheek, her smile brighter than the stars overhead.

  Meg poured herself and Tye fresh cups of coffee and joined them near the fire. Her body ached everywhere, and she eased herself down with a groan. Immediately her thoughts went to Tye's leg. He hadn't seemed
to limp too badly for all the strain he'd been giving it. "How's your leg?"

  "Holding out. I've used the liniment every night."

  "I noticed the bottle was missing."

  "Did you need it?"

  "Wouldn't mind some on my shoulders."

  "I'll do it for you before you turn in."

  She agreed with a nod.

  "Tye's not going to take care of things till later," Eve said.

  Meg smiled and nodded.

  She and Tye locked gazes. Meg chastised herself for the direction her thoughts took just meeting his eyes.

  "Why can't Major come to camp with us?" the child asked.

  "Major stays to guard the house and barn," Meg explained. Joe hadn't had enough time before the war to teach the dog about cows. And Meg tended to spoil the animal rather than train him.

  "When do I get to ride a horse?"

  Poor kid was probably bored within the confines of the campsite. Gus tried to entertain her, but he had work to do, too.

  "You can ride with me for a while in the morning," Tye said.

  Her eyes widened. "On your horse?"

  "Yep."

  She grinned. "What's his name?"

  Tye glanced at Meg. The horse he preferred was from her herd. After riding several, he'd chosen the gray for her surefootedness and temperament.

  Meg shrugged. "Doesn't have a name that I know of. She's not one we foaled. Guess Tye'll have to name her."

  "How about Gray?" Eve asked.

  "She's not really gray," Tye said. "That's kind of a trick on your eyes. Her skin is black and her hair is salt-and-pepper. She'll get lighter as she gets older."

  "What, then?" Eve asked.

  He considered for a moment. "Sweetfeet," he said with a grin.

  "Sweetfeet?" Eve giggled her amusement, and Meg joined their laughter.

  Tye told them about an army horse he'd ridden during the war who used to bite his shoulder when he let his guard down.

  Despite her denial that she was tired, Eve snuggled against him and her eyelids drooped. Before long, she slept.

  Tye tucked her into her bedroll and returned with the liniment. "Loosen the top of your shirt," he said.

  Meg glanced to find Lem already rolled up and snoring beneath the wagon. Gus had planned to stay the night at the ranch, and Hunt and Aldo had gone to play cards with the Bar Sixteen hands.

  Not embarrassed enough to miss out on relief for her aching muscles, she unbuttoned her flannel shirt and let it sag around her arms.

  Tye slid the straps of her chemise from her shoulders, and shivers skittered up her neck and along her spine at his touch. Seconds later, his hard, callused fingers worked the liniment into her flesh.

  She closed her eyes and gave herself over to his strong hands and the penetrating warmth. Meg smiled at her thoughts.

  "What's so funny?" His voice beside her ear surprised her. She hadn't realized he'd been leaning forward to see her face.

  "If I'd known all it took to have you stick around for the evening was a pitiful, pansy-eyed look, I'd have had Eve work on you a lot sooner."

  His hands stilled.

  She turned to see he wasn't smiling. She placed her hand over his. "Tye?"

  "I don't go because I want to," he said gruffly.

  "Then why do you go?" she asked. "Nobody makes you."

  He pulled his hands away, and she turned as he corked the bottle.

  "Tye?"

  He set the bottle aside and stood, reaching for his leather jacket where it lay near his bedroll.

  "Please don't leave tonight."

  His movements stilled. He straightened without picking up the coat. Slowly, he turned to face her.

  She hadn't pulled up the shirt, and his gaze dusted her shoulders, her hair, her face. His compliance was evident in the tender way he studied her even before he nodded. "All right."

  She took a few steps closer, shocking herself with her boldness. "Kiss me."

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  « ^ »

  Tye's expression changed from tender to hesitant. He glanced toward the wagon, but he moved forward, took hold of her upper arms and lowered his head to hers.

  Meg sensed the underlying caution in his hands and lips. He kissed her gently, deliberately, ending the kiss and meeting her eyes.

  "Now say my name," she said.

  At that echo of his own passionate demand, which they both remembered vividly, his dark eyes blazed. "Why?"

  "Because I want to hear you say it. You've called me 'ma'am' from the day we met at the mercantile."

  "Meg," he said tightly. "Meg Hatcher."

  Meg Hatcher. She'd never heard the two names spoken together before, never even thought them. But they had been spoken now, making the name real. The use of Tye's last name seemed disloyal somehow. She pulled away and adjusted her shirt before he could see the pain in her eyes, before she could add any more foolishness to her impulsive behavior.

  Had she thought to test him? Had she hoped to prove something to one of them? She had. She'd convinced herself of her failing common sense. "Go," she said. "Go on to town and do whatever it is you do."

  "I said I'd stay tonight."

  "I don't want you to. I want you to go."

  "That wasn't what you wanted to hear, was it? You didn't want to be reminded of who you're married to."

  "No—yes, I mean … I don't know."

  "Sweet Meg has a dirty little secret, doesn't she?"

  Hesitantly, she turned back. "What do you mean?"

  His dark eyes had become hard, his expression unreadable. The change frightened her. He leaned forward and ran his thumb across her lips. "You like it when I touch you. You ache when I kiss you. You're burnin' for Tye Hatcher, not your precious Joe, and you're ashamed of it."

  Her cheeks flamed. Her ears roared. She wanted to cover them and turn her face away, but she didn't. She couldn't. She couldn't move or think. Her lips burned where he'd touched her.

  "What would those Telford biddies think if they knew how eager you were in the dark? If they knew how you groaned my name and let me put my hands all over you? If they knew how hot and wet you were for me?"

  Stunned, Meg fought to comprehend what was happening. He couldn't be saying these things to her. He couldn't be humiliating her and deliberately hurting her like this. She brought her shaking hands up, brushing his hand aside with her wrist and covering her burning face.

  "You thought you were testing me just then, but you weren't," he continued. "You were testing yourself. And you failed. You're ashamed of what you feel."

  She heard him walk away. She heard his horse greet him and the creak of leather. Minutes later, hoofbeats sounded into the night.

  Meg lowered her hands slowly. The fire still flickered and snapped. Eve still slept soundly several yards away. The sky was still up there, wide and black and full of stars and mysteries.

  But who had she become? She didn't know. A few tears of anger and self-pity rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away with an open palm.

  Why had he said those things? How had he known? How had this whole mess happened?

  She flung herself on her bedroll and stared at twinkling stars that seemed to accuse her. Damn Joe for dying on her and leaving her to this!

  Damn Tye Hatcher for confusing her and jumbling everything up! Of all the stinking, conceited, rotten things to say to her. What did he expect from her?

  She hoped he stayed in town all night. She hoped he moved to town. She hoped his surefooted horse threw him into a ravine and broke his other leg.

  Near dawn she repented for that last wicked thought. And after Tye had entered the camp, taken care of his horse and crawled into his bedroll, she thanked God for knowing when not to listen.

  She hadn't denied it.

  Tye joined two of the reps in moving their herd to the Double Oarlock's camp. The sun had come out full and hot, and he rode the edge of the herd with sweat trickling beneath his shirt.

&
nbsp; He should have gone to her this morning, apologized for raising his voice and saying those crude things and upsetting her. That's what a gentleman would do. It was what Joe would have done. But they both knew Tye wasn't a gentleman. And no one expected better from a good-for-nothing bastard.

  Besides, he had a little pride left.

  He cut off a yearling trying to break away and headed him back into the bunch.

  So it was in the open between them. Meg had needed him and she'd married him. She treated him well. She'd never spoken down to him or let on as if he were beneath her. And she liked his lovemaking in the secretive cloak of night.

  But she was ashamed of him.

  Maybe it had been easier to pretend Joe's family and her friends snubbing her didn't bother her as long as there'd only been the ranch as a factor between them. But now there was more.

  She enjoyed the physical side of marriage with him. As long as she could pretend nothing had happened or that she hadn't been affected, she had been able to cope. But he'd brought her shameful desires out in the open and her careful pretenses had been shattered.

  He'd thought Meg was different. Or he'd hoped. He'd chosen to come back here. He'd faced his heritage straight on. He had only himself to blame.

  But he was here now, and he'd made a pact with Meg. She'd entrusted him with her ranch, and he'd given his word. Besides, there was Eve to consider. Tye would have to work this out for himself in his own time. He didn't know if he could live with Meg and not make love to her. Besides, he wanted children. So did she.

  Neither did he know if he could make love to her and pretend. Pretend it meant nothing. Pretend it didn't happen. Pretend she wanted him for who he was and not just as a replacement or an occasional release.

  He might be a lot of things, but he was not a fake. And he damned well wasn't Joe.

  A few of Mitch's men took over driving the cattle through a gate into a corral, and Tye headed Sweetfeet toward the stream for a well-deserved drink. Pulling his kerchief off, he soaked the fabric and wiped his face and neck while the horse drank.

  Maybe he'd deluded himself—for just a week or two—that something would really come of this marriage. But her flaming embarrassment and her lack of denial had straightened his head out quickly enough.