by Jodi Thomas
“Get some rest.” Blue pulled a heavy quilt over Hank. “It looks like it’s going to rain the rest of the day. Lizzy and I are going home to get some sleep. We’ll be back long before nightfall to check on you and bring some soup. My guess is that little wife of yours won’t leave your side to cook any more than she would for other reasons.”
Hank touched the gun belt on his bedpost. “We’ll be fine.” He forced his voice to sound stronger than he felt. “Let the mutt in before you leave. He’ll warn us if anyone tries to get into the house.”
Blue nodded. “I’ll find you a stick to use for a cane. The doc says you can climb out of that bed as soon as you feel up to it, but don’t put any weight on that leg for at least a week.”
Hank nodded, hating the idea that he’d lose days of work. The cane might get him around the house, but he wouldn’t be able to go outside until the mud dried out, and even then he couldn’t ride. Being laid up was going to cost him dearly.
“I’ll keep an eye on things until you’re getting around better.” Blue’s face seemed to have added a few new wrinkles in the past hours. “Lizzy or I will check on you two a few times a day just to see if we can help, and I’ll go in for any supplies you need.” He glanced at Aggie. “Hell of a first day for the little missus.”
“Much obliged.” Hank hated needing help, but he knew he’d offer the same to Blue if need be.
Blue disappeared out the door.
Hank stayed awake long enough to hear them leave. They let the dog in and Ulysses hurried to the side of the bed where Aggie slept. The old dog laid his head on the edge of her blanket and waited for her to pat him.
“Lay down, Ulysses,” Hank whispered as he drifted off. “She’ll pet you when she wakes.”
An hour later, Hank moved slightly and pain brought him back from a dream. He rolled his head and faced sleepy blue-green eyes watching him from a few inches away.
He didn’t move. Their heads rested on the same pillow.
“Do you need anything?” she whispered.
“Sleep,” he answered. “How about you?”
“I’m cold,” she admitted as she crawled off the bed.
Her crimson-spotted nightgown was stiff in spots with Hank’s dried blood, and so wrinkled it looked more like a rag.
He lifted the side of the heavy quilts covering him. “Climb in,” he offered. “We can go back to sleep. With this rain it seems like twilight outside.”
She shook her head as she tried to straighten her gown. “I can’t sleep in my clothes and I have no other gown. Maybe if I get dressed and wash this it will dry in a few hours.”
Pointing toward the door, he ordered, “Grab one of my flannel work shirts from the mudroom. It’ll be warmer and probably as long on you as that gown.”
She hesitated, but the night without sleep must have won out. She disappeared.
Hank relaxed as he listened to her bare feet run across the main room floor. He should have told her to grab socks as well.
A few minutes later, she stepped back into the room, buttoning the last button of his favorite shirt.
The flannel clung to her body and stopped at her knees. Though the shirt covered almost all of her, the sight of it on her warmed Hank more than the cotton warmed her.
Without a word, he lifted the corner of the quilt and she slipped in beside him, careful not to touch him.
When she shivered, he raised his arm and pulled her close. Her feet brushed his uninjured leg with the shock of an icicle sliding across his skin, but he forced himself not to flinch.
Her hand pushed against his bare chest. “I’m too close. I’ll hurt your leg.”
Hank couldn’t help but laugh. “Believe me, Aggie, your nearness isn’t affecting my injury at all.”
When she wiggled, cuddling, Hank fought down a groan. His left leg was about the only part of his body not reacting to her.
“Go to sleep,” he said more harshly than he meant to.
“Yes, dear,” she answered as she settled beside him.
Hank lay awake and listened to her breathing slow. If he’d known all it took was a few blows from a two-by-four to get the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his bed, he might have taken the hits earlier. She felt so good next to him. As her body relaxed in sleep, her softness melted against him, alive and comforting like he’d never known.
Moving his face against her hair, he took a long breath, pulling the scent of her deep into his lungs. Blue had said she’d refused to leave him last night when he’d been out. Hank curled a strand of her hair around his finger, wondering how he could matter so much to her. One look at her and anyone could love her, but how could it be possible that she cared even a little about him? He was nothing special to look at and he sure couldn’t offer her much. Even his own mother hadn’t stayed around.
But Aggie had. She’d stayed by his side.
He knew he had been little more than her way out of a bad situation. For a shy woman traveling around, being put on the marriage block for first one group and then another to offer for, must have been torture. Why had he been the one she went with? The one she wasn’t afraid of?
He watched the storm play itself out, then finally drifted to sleep with his hand resting at her waist.
Around sunset, he awoke to find her gone. He took her absence like a blow even before reality fully registered on his aching brain. Glancing at the side of the bed, he noticed the mutt had also vanished. Wherever Aggie was, Hank would bet his saddle the dog would be with her.
He didn’t have long to wait. Five minutes later, she backed her way into the room carrying a tray of food. Seeing her fully dressed made him frown. He’d give up food altogether if she’d crawl back in bed with him.
“I brought you some of Lizzy’s soup and bread. They headed home, wanting to be settled in before it got dark.” She didn’t meet his gaze. Her shyness had returned. “Do you want me to feed you?”
Hank pulled himself up until his back rested against the headboard. “I can feed myself, Aggie,” he grumbled. “My leg is broke, not my arms.”
She nodded without looking up as she carefully sat the tray beside him. “The doc said I’m to check the bandage on your head at sunset. If there is no new blood, I can leave the dressing off.”
Hank lifted the bowl of soup and drank it down without taking his eyes off her. He couldn’t believe, after how they’d slept together all day, she could go back to being so shy again. She busied herself getting everything ready while he ate, but not once did she look at him.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. “What is it, Aggie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said as she removed the tray and began tugging the bandage on his head away. “How do you feel?”
“Fine.” He returned a lie for a lie.
“The stitches are holding. I don’t think you need a bandage again.” She brushed his hair away from his forehead and moved to the wound on his arm. “The cut looks good. You heal fast.”
Hank didn’t want to talk about his injuries. He wanted to know what had changed between them when she’d cuddled next to him this morning and now. Until this moment he’d thought he missed little by not having a mother around. Now he realized how much he had to learn about reading women. No. Not women, he corrected. Aggie.
When she tucked the blanket around him, his fingers gently closed over her hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, his tone more demanding.
When she tried to tug her hand away, he held fast. He’d never learn if he didn’t start right now.
Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “We’ve only been married two days and you’ve been injured two times. At this rate you’ll never last a week.” Her chin rose slightly as if she were forcing herself to face facts. “My sisters were right. I’m nothing but trouble. Dolly said once that having me around is no different than having the plague circling. All my sisters were glad to help my poppa get rid of me.”
Hank laughed,
then realized she didn’t see the humor. “Aggie, it wasn’t you who had a knife at the train station, or who wielded the board in the darkness of the barn.” He tugged until she sat beside him. “But it was you who took care of me. And the reason your sisters wanted to marry you off had nothing to do with you being bad luck, trust me on that.”
She nodded once, obviously not believing him. She pulled her hand away.
He fought the urge to reach for it and hold on tightly, but she had to come to him on her own time if there was ever to be anything more between them.
The rain tapped on the windows again, drawing their attention. Aggie turned up the lamp by the bed, then watched gray streaks run down the long windows. “Tell me about the beauty of this land again, dear. I’m having trouble remembering.”
Hank laughed, realizing this time of year it would be hard to see any beauty, but she seemed to need calming. Worry wrinkled her forehead, so if she needed to talk of something besides what had happened, he’d give it a try.
He told her of the first day he’d ridden over his land. How spring turns the world green and the colors in the rock walls of the canyons seem to wave and billow like the skirts of Spanish dancers. He described a summer shower that came up all of a sudden like a phantom riding the wind, dumping a bucket of water that sparkled like diamonds over the wet grass. He told how a dust devil seemed to chase him over the open range, following behind no matter which way he turned his horse.
He caught her glancing out the window from time to time as if she didn’t quite believe his tale. The tapping grew louder as the rain turned to hail. The tiny balls of ice hit the ground and bounced almost like popcorn jumping in a skillet. Within seconds the ground was white as snow.
Hugging herself, Aggie asked, “Should I light the fire in the main room?”
“No.” Hank chose his words carefully, knowing there might be a long way between what he wanted and what was about to happen. “We’ll be warm enough under the covers.” He kept every word level, without emotion, as if he’d said the same words many times before.
She nodded, and to his surprise picked up the flannel shirt. “I’ll wash up in the kitchen and change.”
As soon as she left, Hank grabbed the stick that Blue had left to serve as a cane. Slowly, he moved off the bed. Without putting any of his weight on the broken leg, he crossed the few feet to the washstand and chamber pot.
Aggie might be his wife, but there were some things Hank had no intention of asking her to help with. By the time he was washed up and back to the bed, sweat covered his forehead. He sat down with his back resting against all the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chest. He wished he’d had the sense to buy a nightshirt sometime in his life. Having lived all these years alone, he’d seen no need. But Aggie might find his bare chest shocking.
Hank smiled suddenly. She hadn’t commented on it earlier. Maybe she didn’t notice. One leg of his long-handled underwear had been cut off at the knee just above where the splint started. The other leg was spotted with dried blood, but he’d wait until morning to put on a clean pair. He wasn’t sure he had the energy tonight.
Aggie appeared wearing his shirt. “I washed my gown earlier,” she began, “but it didn’t get dry.”
“You look fine,” he said, and then wished he’d thought to say something more. In truth, she looked adorable.
She sat on the end of the bed and folded her legs beneath her. “I was hoping, if you’re not too tired, that we could talk a while.”
Hank didn’t move. Bedtime conversations were totally new to him and he had no idea what to talk about. She, on the other hand, looked like this was part of her nightly routine, and with four sisters it may very well have been.
She placed her elbows on her flannel-covered knees and rested her chin in her hands.
He swore she looked twelve years old.
“Blue and I have been talking and we don’t think the attack on you was an accident. No one would be just riding by this place. It’s too far off the road.”
“So, what are you saying?” Hank watched her as he tried to follow the conversation. She had shifted and now the soft roundness of her left breast molded against the shirt. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed childlike. There was no doubt she was all woman.
“I’m saying . . .” She moved again and Hank closed his eyes so his ears would work. “I’m saying,” she repeated, “that someone wants you hurt . . . or dead.”
Hank shook his head, then regretted the action. “I don’t think so. I don’t make a habit of crossing folks if I can help it, and it’s been years since I even had a heated discussion with anyone.”
“Try and think,” she coached. “Who lately would benefit from your being hurt or dead? Who has threatened you?”
“Nobody but Potter Stockton on the way back to town the other night. He told me I’d be wise to get on the train and forget about you, because I must know you’d never come.” Hank told the account in passing, nothing important, he thought . . . until he saw Aggie’s face. “You can’t believe Stockton would send someone to hurt me? Sure, he was probably disappointed when he learned you left with me, maybe even mad. But mad enough to try and kill me?”
Aggie nodded. “On the way to the station, Charlie told me he was glad I didn’t pick Potter even though Dolly thought he was the best choice. Charlie said he heard Potter beat a man near to death one night after losing a few dollars in a poker game. He said the railroad man had gunfighter eyes—cold and hard as casket wood.”
Hank raised a doubtful eyebrow. “But Charlie still invited him to dinner?”
Aggie shook her head. “He only invited the banker and told him that if he knew a man looking for a wife, to bring a friend along.”
That explained Charlie’s coldness to Potter Stockton, but Hank still found it hard to believe any man would try to kill another over a woman he’d just met.
Then he looked at Aggie with her beautiful hair and shining eyes and he knew it must be true.
“When did the man insist on having a drink with you?” she asked.
Hank tried to remember exactly the order. “He was standing behind me when I bought our two tickets.”
Aggie frowned. “So he knew you were expecting me?”
“He also knew I didn’t have time to wander over to the saloon.”
She leaned closer. “Do you think, when the offer for drinks didn’t work, that he pulled the knife thinking one way or the other he’d make sure you missed the train?”
Hank didn’t want to admit it, but she made sense. The fellow hadn’t acted all that drunk at first, then as soon as he’d slipped the knife over Hank’s arm, he’d run away. “Maybe,” Hank admitted. “He knew if I wasn’t at the station you wouldn’t be going anywhere that night.”
Aggie finished the thought. “And if you weren’t there, I would have turned around and gone back to Dolly and Charlie’s place.”
Their eyes met. Hank felt like he could read her thoughts. There was no need to continue piecing the puzzle; they’d both seen the picture it made.
Lacing her fingers together, she leaned an inch closer and whispered as if saying her words too loud might make them come true. “Do you think the hired gun might come back?”
Hank wished he could say no, but he didn’t want to lie to her. “He might,” was the best he could do.
Aggie swallowed and nodded. “Then, would you mind if I slept in next to you? I’d planned on making a pallet in the kitchen, but I’d feel safer here.”
Hank wouldn’t have trusted any words. He simply lifted the covers beside him.
She smiled and joined him.
When he stretched and turned out the light, she whispered, “Thank you, dear.” As if he’d done her a favor.
Hank wouldn’t have been surprised if lightning came through the second floor and struck him any moment. He wasn’t worried about anyone trying to kill him; his shy little wife was going to give him a heart attack by doing something as simple as trusting hi
m.
This time she didn’t wait for him to pull her next to him. She snuggled against him and laid her hand on his bare chest.
Then, before he could think to breathe, she laughed.
He covered her hand with his. “What’s so funny?”
“Your chest hair tickles.”
“Aggie?” His fingers stilled her hand.
“Yes, dear?” she answered.
“Kiss me good night,” he whispered as she looked up.
This time, when his mouth covered hers, he couldn’t hold back. He had to kiss her the way a man kisses a woman . . . the way a man kisses his wife.
His arm pulled her against him. The thin layer of flannel did little to mask the feel of her. He kissed her long and hard, drinking her in, needing to end the drought in his life, needing to need another.
When he finally let her go, Hank rolled an inch away and tried to think of something, anything to say, but no words would come.
He could feel her tugging at the covers, pulling a blanket over her shoulders, snuggling into her own pillow. “Good night, dear,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Good night?” he answered. “Don’t you have anything else to say after what just happened?”
She rose to one elbow. “What just happened?”
Hank closed his eyes and swore beneath his breath. She was going to make him say it, then there would be no doubt what he was apologizing for. “About the way I kissed you. I didn’t plan it, but I’ll not say I’m sorry.”
“All right,” she said as if she’d given it no thought.
He had the feeling she was staring at him in the darkness. Probably thinking of ways to kill him herself since he was stepping way over the line of being partners.
“You’re not mad about the kiss?”
She laughed again. “No, dear,” she answered. “I rather liked it. I’m surprised that something I’ve given little thought to in my life could be so pleasant.”
He was back to step one of trying to understand Aggie. “Then you wouldn’t mind if we did it again?”